


intelligence & issues

by QuickCharade



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Age Difference, But will have his soft moments, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hotch is 37, Hotch is kind of an asshole, I try my best!, I write the cases the BAU takes in here, Just 14 years age difference lol, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader is 23, Sir Kink, Slow Burn, So apologies if they're unrealistic or wonky, but very mild, mentions of self harm, slight BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 103,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickCharade/pseuds/QuickCharade
Summary: You’ve been working for the BAU for almost a year now. You know how you feel about your supervisor, but you also know it’s a lost cause. When the next case the BAU is assigned takes the team to your hometown, will it bring the two of you closer, or rip you apart for good?(This is also posted on my tumblr, klinenovakwinchester!)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Comments: 306
Kudos: 663





	1. The word is out on the street that love is looking for you

It had been decided. 

“If my life was a movie, I’d want 38 Special’s ‘You Keep Runnin’ Away’ to play over the opening scene.” You clap your hands together at the end, solidifying your answer. “And yes, I will be playing it for you all on the jet.”

The team collectively groans. Here you were again with your strange love for classic rock music. You’re twenty-three, and yet you listen to music that came out before you were even born.

“I can’t even say if that’s bad because I don’t even _know_ the song,” Emily says. 

“Me either,” Spencer chimes, then grimaces. “And that’s saying something.”

“Oh, whatever,” you wave their disapproving glances out of your space. “It’s not my fault everything you guys listen to is modern pop music.”

“It is your fault for listening to old music, sweetheart,” Morgan’s usual silky-smooth voice adds to the conversation he’s just walked in on. “What are we doin’?”

“We were just discussing what songs would play over the opening credits of our lives if they were movies,” Spencer fills him in with ease. 

“Thanks, pretty boy,” Morgan pats the doctor’s shoulder. “And let me guess, you chose some old rock song.”

“You are correct,” you reply, then smirk. “You know, every time you call my music taste old, you’re technically calling Hotch old, too.

“So? He is old,” Morgan shrugs.

“You’re practically the same age!”

“Nah, he’s got me beat by a few years.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got you both beat by almost two decades,” you remind him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

It’s one of your absolute favorite things to do: remind Derek Morgan how much younger you are than him. And Hotch, but Hotch is never up for any of these shenanigans, hence why he isn’t present at this current moment.

“Alright, we got it,” Morgan quickly backpedals. “No need to remind Pretty Boy here that you stole his title.”

“She actually didn’t,” Spencer says, a little too happily. “She was two months older than I was.”

You smile. Unbeknownst to Derek, you and Spencer have actually already had this conversation.

“Even if I wasn’t, you’ve still got me beat by three doctorates,” you tease, nudging his arm — or rather, his cardigan, since he’s always so layered up. 

You were, in fact, recruited at the age of twenty-two, just like Spencer, but two months older than he was, as he clearly pointed out. You don’t have a single doctorate or master’s degree to your name and quite frankly, some days you wonder what the absolute hell you’re even doing in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. 

You got a headstart on your bachelor’s degree in criminal psychology while also getting your high school diploma — though by senior year you were basically a full-time college student (thank God, too; you were ready to leave the stone prison that is called high school by the time you turned 15). 

A month before your 19th birthday you were walking across the stage to get your bachelor’s degree, and you got it with honors -- with a minor in sociology, but that was just to pass your free time.

You bounced around here and there, doing whatever job would pay you enough to keep a roof over your head and food sometimes on your table. You worked for the Bureau of Criminal Investigation in Virginia for a year before you were being recruited by the BAU. 

Apparently, Aaron Hotchner heard about your work on previous cases, and saw that if it weren’t for you, those cases easily would’ve been passed to the BAU. Which meant one thing: Aaron Hotchner needed you on his team. With SSA Gideon’s sudden departure and Elle’s...incident, Aaron needed someone else.

You remember that day you were called into your supervisor’s office — you’ll never forget it.

He almost seemed...annoyed that he had to deliver such news. But a man like Aaron Hotchner is not a man who should ever be crossed, so your supervisor had no choice. 

In a day’s time, you were arriving at the BAU to meet with SSA Hotchner himself, and ever since that day, you’ve been on the team. 

Well, unofficially. The paperwork and transfers took some time to go through, of course. 

But a new case came in right in the middle of your meeting with Hotchner, and because you couldn’t help yourself, you had started spewing theories and facts, anything your brain noticed. Rather than telling you to leave (like you had expected), Agent Hotchner told you to go to the conference room and wait as he gathered the rest of the team. 

And the rest is history.

“What dirty secrets are we sharing and why wasn’t I invited?” Garcia’s teasing voice radiates through the room as she enters. 

“There’s my love,” you reply without hesitation. Garcia makes a grabbing motion toward your cheeks with a grin. “Reid was just reminding me that he still holds the title of youngest FBI _recruitee_?” You raise an eyebrow, looking to Reid. 

“Recruit,” he corrects you gently. 

“Ah,” you chuckle. “Thanks, genius.”

“Anytime,” he smiles. 

Hotch walks in on the exchange and has to calm himself before he speaks. “We’ve got a new case. JJ’s bringing the files.” 

He sits in the chair directly in front of you like always, and like always, you turn your body to face him, resting your elbows on the table. You prop your face in the palms of your hands and crane your neck to focus on the conversation the rest of the team is having, but you’d be lying if you said your eyes don’t wander. 

Aaron Hotchner is a newly divorced man with a young son and you should absolutely not, under any circumstances, fantasize about him.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t, from time to time.

There’s just something about him, and you’re not sure what it is, but you’re determined to find out. 

It’s not lost on you that he’s considerably much older than you. Fourteen years, to be exact. Which, granted, isn’t a big deal for some couples. But given the fact that you’re 23 and he’s 37, you think there’s bound to be some sort of conflict there. 

But you don’t dwell on the age. It’s not like anything is going to happen. He’s your boss, first of all. And second of all, you’re almost positive Hotch sees you as a daughter, which is fine. You probably should view him as a father figure instead of a...possible romance, but hey, what does he expect?

Seriously, though. Just two weeks ago he jumped in front of you when the unsub raised their gun. You weren’t wearing a vest (for reasons too lengthy to explain now) and Hotch put himself between you and a loaded gun. 

You thanked him for it after, but he brushed it off. He’s humble, but he was saving your life, whether he wants to word it like that or not.

That, coupled with the fact that he looks so _sexy_ all of the time, is enough to make any woman swoon. 

But you digress. 

“Hey Hotch, what song would play at the beginning of your life if it was a movie?”

You’re known to ask some off the wall questions, and Hotch blames your one-too-many unbuttoned buttons of your blouse for his stammering reply. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, you heard me,” you chuckle, knowing it’s a matter of time before JJ comes with the files. “What song is the anthem to your life? When you walk on a crime scene, what’s playing in your head?”

Hotch thinks. Shrugs. Sees JJ coming toward the conference room. 

“Mine’s a 38 Special song,” you offer, half wondering if he’ll know it and half genuinely trying to be friendly. “‘You Keep Runnin’ Away.’”

JJ walks in with the new case before Hotch has the time to lose it. 

It’s wrong. He _knows_ it’s wrong. You’re young. He’s divorced, has a kid, and he still somewhat loves his now ex-wife. He should not be looking at you the way he looks at you, and yet, he’s still looking. 

Because you make it so damn hard. You don’t act your age at all and it drives him up every wall imaginable. 

Like now. You’re in your twenties. Any twenty-something year old would’ve picked some random pop song off the radio as their song that would play in their life’s movie. But no, you chose a song that Hotch remembers when it was released. Hell, 38 Special is one of his favorite bands, but he’s never told you that — or anyone at all — so you’re not even saying it to get a rise out of him. You’re saying it because you genuinely mean that song describes your life, and it’s driving Hotch crazy.

The two of you shouldn’t have so much in common. He shouldn’t see what he sees in you, and yet it’s an uphill battle every damn day not to flirt with you and cross any lines.

The worst part of it is, Hotch is pretty sure you do not see him in that way whatsoever. Your friendly nature is just that -- friendly. If anything, he sees you going on a date with Spencer before you’d ever look at him in that way.

Hotch takes a deep breath. Imagining you on a date with Spencer was not his best move. He doesn’t have the time to be senselessly angry over something that has never happened.

JJ enters the conference room and begins passing out files. 

“Three women were killed in the span of two days, each one was poisoned and then had their wrists slit vertically, making them bleed out,” she explains. 

Garcia quickly stands, having heard enough. “That’s my cue. Later, hot stuff,” she pats Morgan’s cheek lovingly before promptly leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

You chuckle. Some days she tires to grin and bear it, other days she gives up immediately. You can’t say that you blame her either way. It’s hard for you some days, too. More often than you’d like to admit.

You grab the case file JJ placed in front of you and open it, wincing at the picture of the women’s wrists. Speaking of being too much. 

They’re all early twenties -- your exact age, actually -- and they all were set to graduate from the same community college...

Where you went.

“Well that’s terrifying,” you blurt, unable to stop the word vomit before you spew it.

“What?” Hotch replies, more concerned than he should be. He should be annoyed. Now isn’t the time for you to suddenly be terrified by a case.

“They’re all my age, went to school where I did,” you list, flipping through the pages. “And they’re from my hometown…” Their faces look vaguely familiar, but not enough. You should recognize them, shouldn’t you?

Silence falls over the conference room. That is actually odd.

Hotch breaks the silence. “If you need to sit this one out--”

You cut your boss off immediately, admittedly peeved that he even assumed you’d want to sit a case out just because you fit the initial victimology. You’re a woman in your early twenties. You fit practically every initial victimology. 

“I’m fine. JJ, go on, please.” Your mind doesn’t even have time to comprehend or process the genuine concern Hotch had in his words, either.

After sharing a look with Hotch and receiving a nod, JJ continues.

“Local police ruled the first incident as a regular suicide, but after the second and third turned up so quickly, they realized something else must be going on.”

“Clearly,” Emily scoffs. Sometimes local police can be dense.

“There was no DNA found at the crime scenes?” Morgan wonders aloud, already skeptical.

JJ shakes her head, pressing another button on the remote to bring up the headshots of the three women. “And so far, the only connection between the victims is their age and class year. There’s no evidence that they really knew each other.”

“They most likely knew of one another,” you chime. “The college is small enough that you don’t know everyone’s dirty secrets, but you definitely know their name and some general things about them. Chances are if anything, the women would say hi to one another when their paths crossed, maybe even make small talk.”

“Did _you_ know them?” Hotch asks. He needs to figure out how connected you are to this case while he’s ahead.

“No,” you shake your head. “Their faces look vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know them well.”

“So acquaintances,” Emily nods.

“Loosely, yeah,” you agree. “But judging by their majors -- Communications, Secondary Education, and Engineering -- there’s no way any of their senior course levels would’ve been cross listed. At most they might’ve shared a foundations course together.” Upon seeing confused looks, you clarify, “They call the general education courses foundations. Like basic math, science, history, that stuff. You’ll meet virtually anyone in those courses.”

JJ continues. “All three women had no previous records of mental health issues and no suicide notes were found, so this has been a shock. And, unfortunately,” she presses another button, showing a headline. “The media got a hold of the story a few hours ago. It broke big. Massive. They need our help putting it to rest.”

In big, almost mocking letters, the headline reads: _**LOCAL POLICE INVESTIGATING SERIAL KILLER SUICIDES AT COLLEGE**_

You sigh heavily. “I was worried about that.”

Hotch raises his eyes to you, questioning. You meet his eyes and then notice that everyone else has followed suit.

“I mean,” you pause, leaning forward on your elbows. “I know we hate hearing this, but this,” you gesture to the file. “This stuff doesn’t happen there. The worst thing that happened when I was growing up was we had a runaway prisoner from another county pass through when I was twelve, and he ended up willingly turning himself in. Other than that it’s…” You shrug. “Everyone knows everyone. Kids willingly go to that college to stay close to home. It has graduate programs that some follow through with. The news just broke the story, but I guarantee you everyone already knew. This just made it statewide.”

Hotch is suddenly glad you don’t want to sit this one out. Your knowledge of this sleepy small town is going to be vital. “Do you still know the locals?”

“If none of them have moved, then yeah. I’ve got friends there, too. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten texts about this damn case yet.”

“Okay, well, you’ll need to come with me to the college campus,” he says, and you hate the way it sends a hot rush through you. “We’ll need someone who they trust.”

“Oh, they’ll talk,” you assure him. “You’ll just need me to translate and sift through all the gossip.”

“Classic small town,” Morgan chuckles.

Reid picks up the toxicology report with furrowed eyebrows. “It says here they had record high levels of ethylene glycol in their blood.” 

You find the number and your eyes widen. 1254 milligram per deciliter. That’s insanely high. 

Reid continues, “It’s commonly found in a lot of commercially available products like antifreeze, windshield washer fluid, and some fuel additives. And it usually tastes sweet, so there are a lot of cases of unintentional ingestion.”

“So, mechanic?” Emily wonders aloud, mostly just throwing ideas out there.

“Not necessarily,” Hotch shakes his head, his tone drawing the conversation to a close for now. “Wheels up in thirty.”

The familiar rustle of files closing and chairs scooting back from the table fills your ears. 

Another case.

You fish your phone out of your pocket on your way to your desk, texting your mom. _I’m coming home_.

Her reply is almost instant. _Is it those three girls? It’s just awful. I can’t believe it. I went to high school with their parents._

 _Yeah, it is_ , you write back.

_Well I’m glad your team is coming to help. Will you stop by for dinner one night?_

It almost feels wrong, to be making dinner plans when three women have been killed. It seems too normal.

 _We’ll see_ , you settle for that. _You know how my schedule gets._

 _I know honey_ , she replies. _Well, I love you anyway_.

 _Love you too_ , you smile, shoving your phone back in your pocket. It’s been a few months since you’ve gone back home, about six or seven. Which is a lot for you, considering the fact that when you got your degree, you stayed close to home for a year before transferring to Virginia. 

“What’s got you smiling?” Morgan presses, teasing.

“You’re so nosy,” you laugh, shoving his arm. “My mom. She’s glad that we’re coming to help.”

“Ohhh, are we gonna meet Momma L/N?”

“Don’t get too excited,” you warn him. “She’ll eat you alive.”

Emily laughs loudly. “I’ll pay to see that.”

“Me too,” Reid chimes.

“She’d eat you up, too, pretty boy,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair, earning a frown as he fixes it. “I told her I’d see,” you finally reply to Morgan’s initial question.

“You’d see what?” Hotch’s voice comes from over your shoulder.

You turn to find him standing behind you, go-bag already in hand. “Oh, just my mom wanting to see me for dinner since I’ll be in town.”

“We’re not going there for a vacation,” Hotch mutters. “Wheels are up in twenty. Let’s move.”

You share a look with your other team members as your supervisor walks off, clearly in a bad mood. 

“Yikes,” you hiss when he’s out of earshot. “I guess that settles that one.”

No one says anything in return as you all silently gather your things. When Hotch is in a worse mood than usual, twenty minutes can really mean five. Which means your asses might get left if you don’t hurry up.

You make a note to keep the comments and plans about seeing your mom to a minimum as well.

Home sweet home, right?


	2. And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous!Hotch. That is all.

Home sweet home, indeed.

As Hotch previously decided (though because of his mood, you were half expecting him to change his mind), you’re with him to go to the college campus. 

Reid is working with Garcia to see if there are any invisible strings tying these three girls together because going to the same school is not nearly enough. It might be a community college, but it still has nearly seven thousand students.

JJ is trying to get a handle on what she can with the media, but so far has proved to be unsuccessful. She’s been yelled at more than she wants to, all because apparently the FBI’s response time is “too slow.” As if they have control over when and where they’re invited.

Emily and Morgan are off to where the women were found, to see if anything was overlooked, and to get a good sense of who you guys are dealing with.

Five minutes into the car ride to campus with Hotch, you wish you and Emily had traded places.

First, he had to give you a lecture about staying on task during cases. How he can’t necessarily forbid you from seeing your mother, but that you need to prioritize.

“Three women are dead, Hotch!” You nearly yell. “I know my priorities! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be in this fucking car with you!”

That’s what you  _ wanted _ to say to him, at least. But it’s not what you actually say. You kind of like your job, so you kept your voice calm and collected.

“Yes, sir. I understand. I reminded her that the case comes first.” You pause, trying to lighten the air in the car so you don’t suffocate. “If it helps, she’s happy we’re here.”

“I hope her views are the same as the rest of the town,” he muttered, putting his turn signal on.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he slows down.

“Turning?” He replies, stopping to wait for an opening between cars.

“No, don’t,” you wave your hand. “Go up further and then turn left. Trust me.”

He looks skeptical, but turns off his signal and goes forward. Hesitation fills his body language.

“Relax,” you chuckle, sitting up straighter in your seat. “I used to drive these roads every day. I’m giving you the faster route. It’s prettier, too.”

“We don’t have time to look at the scenery, L/N.”

“Yes, I know that. Turn here.”

Hotch turns and steals a glance at your face when you see the houses along the side of the road. Your eyes practically light up and he hears your breath hitch a little, but you don’t say anything. 

It’s adorable.  _ You’re  _ adorable, and Hotch is kicking himself every time he has that thought.

“Here it is,” you murmur, almost to yourself, when the college buildings come into view. The gate is wide open, as usual. “This is the east side of campus. I used to come in this gate because it was a lot less crowded in the morning.”

Hotch nods, wanting to hear more, but he knows it’s a bad idea. He’s toeing the line as it is. He doesn’t need to get invested.

“Turn right and it’ll take you back to the front of campus. I’m assuming we need to check in at the university center?”

Hotch nods. “Campus police should be waiting for us there.”

“Okay. Yeah, it’s just up here.” You point to a massive building, one that almost looks out of place with how modern its features are. “God, they did renovations my senior year,” you say, again to yourself, but Hotch listens to every word. “It looks so much different. Oh, you can park up by it. I’m sure we have leeway. I got fined one day for parking up here as a student.” You chuckle, recalling the memory. “I appealed it and was fine. I was a junior in high school then, so they let it slide. They let...most things slide around here.”

This is the most you’ve ever talked about your time at college -- at least, to Hotch’s knowledge it is. But he’s correct. 

You don’t talk about it much, not willingly, at least. You had a wonderful time here, so it’s not that anything traumatic happened to you, it’s just a different time. Who you were then compared to who you are now is almost two completely different, distinct people. If you saw yourself on the sidewalk today, you definitely wouldn’t recognize yourself.

But, oh well. Such is life. No sense in dwelling on that right now.

By the time Hotch puts the vehicle in park, you’re unbuckled and out on the sidewalk, spinning in circles.

“Focus, agent,” he scolds gently, and you think you must be dreaming, because you swear you see a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am focused,” you reply, teasing, hands on your hips. “I just haven’t been back in a few years. Forgive me for feeling like I just traveled back in time.”

He shakes his head and begins walking before he stops, turning to you. “Lead the way.”

You can’t help the grin that crosses your lips. You’ll gladly lead the way. Any day.

You push the glass door open, holding it open for Hotch as you walk through. They did renovations mainly to the outside, but the inside is the same. All gray and navy blue, the school’s colors. They’ll never grow old, not to you. There’s something nostalgic about where you first attend college -- for you it’s where you’ve  _ only _ attended college. You’ll always have a soft spot.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Your head snaps around, your grin widening when your eyes meet those that you’ll never forget. “Is  _ that _ who  _ I _ think it is? Come here!”

Tracy rounds the desk and you nearly tackle her in a hug. She’s a younger Black woman (but still a few years older than you), with a kind face that you instantly trusted the day you first met.

When you were a sophomore in high school trying to get classes at this college, Tracy was the advisor you spoke to. She was in her early twenties at the time. She handles all dual enrollment students, but they’re normally juniors or seniors, not sophomores. She was the one you needed to gain the approval of, and after ten minutes, you were being enrolled.

She believed in you. Saw that you needed more and that you were ready to get out of high school. It was too immature for you, too loud, too crowded. She got you out. You owe her a lot.

“Look at you!” Tracy nearly squeals, holding you by your shoulders. “Let me look at you. Turn.”

Humoring her, you turn in a circle slowly, holding out your arms. “How old do I look?”

“Only  _ slightly  _ older than that fifteen-year-old I met all those years ago,” she jokes, holding her hand to her heart. “What are you doing back here? Come all this way just to visit me?”

And just like that, with a few simple words, you’re reminded of  _ why _ you’re here.

Tracy reads you like a book. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, pulling out your badge. “I’m uh…” You open it, showing her your credentials. 

“Oh my...” Tracy gasps, hands reaching out to hold your badge, but she stops halfway, remembering that even though you’re the teenager she helped, you’re not that girl anymore. 

Hotch finally makes himself known, stalking over and showing his own badge. He glances at you and dares to make a comment, but keeps quiet.

“This is my supervisor SSA Aaron Hotchner,” you introduce him. “And officially, I’m SSA L/N.”

“We’re investigating the murders of three girls that went here. The news initially reported them as suicides--” Hotch begins. 

“Actually,” you interrupt him, and make a note to apologize for it later. “Did you happen to know them?”

“Of course I did, I handle all the dual enrollment students,” Tracy says, a sad look overtaking her eyes. “It’s just awful.”

“They were dual enrollment?” You ask. “For how long?”

Tracy thinks, then shakes her head. “I’d have to look at their files to be sure, but I think since they were juniors. Do you think we could go to my office? I can give you their academic files.”

“Of course, yes, anything helps,” you nod.

“It’s just upstairs,” Tracy says, not to you, but to Hotch. You used to literally hang out in her office just to talk to her about anything and everything. You were close to calling her Aunt Tracy by the time you left -- and you know if you did, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

“I’ll meet you back down here,” Hotch says, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to meet with campus police. See if they have any unusual incidents that could lead us to our unsub.”

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Okay. An hour?”

“Hour is good,” Hotch says, but you know he means  _ make it thirty _ .

Hotch doesn’t display his badge, instead keeping it tucked away as he walks off to an officer that caught his eye a few moments ago.

You turn back to Tracy with a small smile. “I’m sorry about him. He’s been in a bad mood as of late.”

Tracy raises an eyebrow. 

You furrow yours. “What?”

“I thought you were coming in here to introduce me to your new lover,” she admits, nearly making you choke on air.

_ “What?” _

“Oh, girl,” she wraps an arm around your shoulders, heading for the wide staircase. “He was watching you the entire time we were talking. Watched you spin in that circle, too. He’s got it bad, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m sure you do,” you scoff, hands suddenly clammy at the idea. 

You know how you feel about him -- as bad as it is -- but you’ve never once  _ seriously _ considered him reciprocating your feelings. Sure, you fantasize about it, that’s normal for anyone to do, fantasizing about their crush feeling the same way. But  _ seriously _ ? 

“It’s wrong,” you blurt, always able to talk to her. A few years didn’t change that. “Inappropriate, even.”

“Oh, I know,” Tracy laughs. “But that’s what makes it so much more  _ attractive _ , isn’t it?”

“He’s too old,” you blurt again. You know listing these cons is only for you, to convince yourself how wrong it is, how you shouldn’t be feeling this way.

“Oh, please,” Tracy shakes her head. “You’re what, twenty-three now? You act thirty, my dear.”

You gasp. “Are you calling me  _ old _ ?”

“Thirty is not old,” Tracy says firmly, reminding you that she’s thirty now. “I’m calling you  _ mature _ . Wise. I was surprised you were fifteen when I first met you. You had more confidence in you than most of the eighteen year old freshmen that come in here. That’s only grown with time, like you.” She pauses. “Don’t let an age difference scare you. You both work for the FBI, don’t you?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, sweetheart, if he wasn’t interested in you, I’d think he was either married or  _ blind _ .”

You don’t know what to say to that, considering Hotch technically  _ was _ married when you first met him. The divorce happened -- or you caught wind of it -- a few months after you were hired. But Tracy doesn’t need to know that, and you need to get back on track.

“Okay, as much as I love catching up and having you dissect my love life…”

“Yes, I know, you’re here on official business.” Tracy’s arm slips from your shoulders as you enter her office. She goes to her filing cabinet and begins searching. “It was Jennifer, Kelly, and Natasha, right?”

You nod. “I think Natasha might have gone by Natalie? That’s the name the news broadcasted.”

Tracy nods, pulling the files. “She hated Natasha. It was the name her dad chose for her.”

“Ah,” you understand immediately. A deadbeat dad will make anyone do anything to get rid of all ties. You know. It’s why you have your current last name and not the one you were born with.

Noticing that too because nothing gets past her, Tracy murmurs, “I see you finally got that name change.” She looks up, and she smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “I just wish I had gotten it done in time to have it on my degree.” At least you got it done in time for your badge, though.

“Oh, hun,” she waves her hand. “Give me one second.”

She hands you the files of the three students, so you sit down and begin looking through them for their starting dates. In front of you, Tracy sits at her desk and types furiously, as always.

You find that each of them started their junior year with only a few classes, not a full schedule like you did. You know it’s wrong, but every difference between you and these women puts your heart at ease.

But you find another connection to them that you didn’t see in the file. “They were graduating with a bachelor’s  _ and _ master’s?”

“Yes,” Tracy nods, a proud yet sad smile crossing her lips. “It’s why they didn’t--  _ weren’t _ supposed to graduate until this May. It’s a six year program. Four of undergrad, and two for the master’s. For them, this was their fifth year. And even,” Tracy gestures to the files. “Natalie could’ve finished last year. She wanted to stay.”

“Did she say why?” You ask. There has to be something. “So far we’ve found absolutely nothing connecting these women outside of their attendance here, and now them being dual enrolled in the bachelor’s and master’s program, but…”

“No connection?” Tracy nearly laughs, which startles you. “Those girls went to the same high school, they were best friends. I know you won’t remember them because you were out of there sophomore year, but. They were close. Like this,” she crosses her fingers.

“Okay, um, one second,” you fish your phone out of your pocket, dialing Hotch. “Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” you shake your head. Focus. “Tracy just told me these girls were friends. Like  _ best _ friends, Hotch.”

“Okay, so there’s our connection. Anything else?”

“They were each supposed to graduate in May with a bachelor’s and master’s degree--”

“At the same time?” 

“Yes, it’s an accelerated program they have here.” You pause, unable to stop yourself, “They didn’t have it for criminal psychology when I was here, so don’t start.”

He doesn’t reply, but you swear you hear him smile. “Where’s her office? I want to be there before you ask any more questions.”

“Um,” you find that odd. You hope he’s not getting in a mood again. “It’s 203. Come up the staircase at the front and hang a right. The door’s open.”

“Be right there.”

You look up to see Tracy giving you her all-too-knowing look. You shake your head at her, earning a scoff and roll of her eyes.

Hotch comes through the door a moment later. He nods for you to continue, which is a surprise. You were honestly expecting him to take over. 

“Did they have boyfriends? Fiancés, even?” 

Tracy shakes her head. “No fiancés. Natalie was seeing some guy, but he moved off to graduate school in England, I’m pretty sure. It crushed her to see him go.”

“Did they happen to have a crush on the same guy? Or did they ever talk about someone liking all of them but maybe they weren’t interested?”

Tracy shakes her head again. “I honestly can’t say. I know Kelly and Jennifer weren’t seeing anyone, that they told me, of course. Kelly did have a boyfriend in high school that she talked about, but he…” Remembering, Tracy sighs. “He died in a car accident two years ago. Drunk driver.”

“Ah,” you nod, so that’s a literal dead end. “So Jennifer wasn’t seeing anyone at all?”

“That I know of,” Tracy sighs. “But they don’t tell me everything. Sometimes I run into them holding hands with their sweetheart, and that’s how I’ll find out, like with you and Trevor.”

Your eyes immediately widen, a cold bolt of panic hitting your spine. “Tracy—”  _ Of all the people she could’ve brought into this damn conversation— _

“Trevor?” Hotch questions. “Who is he?”

“Just— Some random guy,” you wave your hand in front of your face. “No one.”

“No one?” Tracy scoffs. “You two were in love! It killed him when you left, you know.”

You glare at her, well aware of what she’s doing. Make Hotch jealous, make him angry, force his hand so he’ll confess his true feelings for you. You’re well aware. But Tracy doesn’t know how Hotch works. 

“Is he still around?” Hotch presses. 

“He’s just finished his master’s degree. He’s one of our new professors.”

“Of course he is,” you mutter under your breath. 

All he ever talked about was wanting to teach. He would pity you for thinking you could ever make it in the FBI with only a bachelor’s. You agreed with him, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted support, not to be told you’d never make it or that you were taking a huge risk. He’d tell you that it would be safer to stay here, and you didn’t want to stay here. You loved it here, but you needed someplace new. A fresher start. It’s why you took the job at the BCI in Virginia. You weren’t intending on joining the BAU. That was pure luck, some might even say a  _ blessing _ .

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks you, eyebrows raised. Oh, and he’s mad, too. You can feel it coming off of him in waves.  _ Nice work, Tracy. _

“Nothing, just…” You stand to your feet, looking to Tracy. “Do you mind if we keep these? I’m going to keep looking through them to see if there’s anything else useful.” You doubt there will be. But the sooner you get her the hell away from Hotch, the better. 

“You’re fine,” she waves. “If you come back by tomorrow, I’ll have your degree.”

“My degree?”

“With the  _ correct _ name,” she reminds you softly, and for a moment, you want to hug her. 

Then your nostrils are assaulted by the smell that is Aaron Hotchner’s cologne, and you’re spiraling all over again. 

“Thank you, I’ll try to stop by. If I don’t, you can just mail it to my mom’s house. Or give it to her. Whatever works. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

And as quick as a bolt of lightning, you’re practically hauling Hotch out of her office and down the staircase back to the first floor. 

“Who is Trevor?” Hotch just keeps pressing. “Should we question him?”

“No, for God’s sake, Hotch, he—”

“Y/N? Is that you?”

_ Speak of the fucking devil, and he shall appear.  _

Your eyes close, hoping,  _ praying _ that maybe if you don’t turn at the sound of your name, that he will go away. 

But he doesn’t. That’s Trevor for you. Persistent without shame. Won’t take no for an answer.

Hotch watches you slowly as you turn and greet the young man that spotted you. 

Trevor hasn’t changed one bit. He still has his dark brown hair styled the exact same way, almost 1940s style, and still wears a damn tie everywhere he goes. 

He’s older than you by a couple of years, but you met when you were eighteen. He was twenty and a sophomore at the time (you were technically a junior, by credit hours). You both met in an elective class. It was purely innocent, strictly friends for the first few months. The two of you happened to be paired together on the first day for one of those stupid “get to know your classmates” things that professors sometimes do. Then you willingly partnered on a presentation. And feelings changed, as they do. 

You dated very briefly. You wouldn’t even consider him to be your first love — you don’t think you’ve even experienced love yet, if you’re honest. Everyone thought you loved Trevor. On the outside, it seemed that way. And he definitely loved you, or tried to. 

He was the worst about letting you go. And it’s clear right now that he still hasn’t. 

“Wow, you look…” Trevor shakes his head, at a loss for words. 

“That bad, huh?” You joke, instantly regretting it when Hotch moves to stand right next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Uh, Trevor this is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.”

“Woah,  _ Agent _ ? Like—”

“FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Hotch answers firmly, eyeing Trevor up and down. You almost want to elbow his ribs to get him to stop, but you’re not too sure that’s a good idea. 

“FBI?” Trevor’s eyes widen in disbelief, looking at you. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“Yeah, me either some days,” you admit. “Anyway, it was nice to see you, but we’re on the clock, so…”

“Right, right, um…” Trevor shakes his head again, a bad habit he never got rid of. “Wow. It was nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah,” you smile through a grimace, offering a small wave. You turn your head to your supervisor, plowing right through the awkward air. “What did campus police have to say?”

Trevor gets the memo (thankfully) and walks away, hands stuffed in his front pockets. 

“He’s still in love with you,” Hotch replies, completely ignoring your question. 

“Unfortunate. I don’t love him. Campus police?”

“He’s getting a coffee. He keeps looking this way,” Hotch continues, able to see all of this even though his eyes have stayed locked on yours. “Your body language is telling me it wasn’t a happy relationship. Should I be concerned?”

It’s a simple thing. One word. He could’ve easily said, “Should  _ we _ be concerned?” but instead he chose to put focus on him. Like if you tell him it wasn’t happy, he’ll march over there and give Trevor the scare of his life. The idea doesn’t seem all that bad to you.

“Should you?” You counter. “Three women are dead. Do you really want to  _ concern _ yourself with my ancient history?”

“Ancient history is hundreds of years in the past. It seems to me you didn’t meet him that long ago.”

Fine. You’ll humor him. “We met when I was eighteen. He was twenty. Started dating three months after we met. Went all the way until a few months after graduation when I got the job at the BCI in Virginia. He told me I’d never make it. I called the supervisor back and accepted the offer right in front of his face.”

“So you made a point to prove him wrong?”

“I made a point to do something with my life instead of staying in this small town forever,” you counter. “There’s no FBI precinct here. Obviously I had to go somewhere for it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Just because I met him when I was eighteen didn’t mean I was going to alter my life goals to stay close to him.”

“He’s coming back this way,” Hotch warns. 

Instantly, you look, panic seizing you again, but you find Trevor nowhere. Realizing what Hotch just did, anger floods your veins. 

“Made you look,” Hotch says, but it’s not teasing, it’s angry. As if you were the one who lied to him. He turns and walks toward the front doors, shoving one open and not bothering to hold it for you. 

“You bastard,” you grumble, following right behind him, palms stinging from where you smack the door.

He whips around, glowering at you. “What did you just call me?”

Normally, you’d stand down by now. You’d apologize. Hell, you’ve never gone so far as to call him a bastard to his face. This is uncharted territory. But you’re fed up. 

“Bastard,” you repeat. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t  _ do _ anything to you.”

“You told me he was coming when he wasn’t even there!”

“You wouldn’t have looked if it didn’t matter.”

“I wouldn’t have looked if you hadn’t lied to me!”

He gives you a disbelieving look.

Fine. He pushed your buttons. Time to push his. “Why are you so interested in Trevor?”

Hotch is heated. He speaks without thinking. “He could be a suspect.”

You almost laugh. “Based on what? The fact that I used to date him and that he’s allegedly not over me?”

Hotch clenches his jaw. “He looked at the files under your arm four times while he stood there. Four.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t just looking at my boobs?” It’s not something you ever thought you’d hear yourself saying to your boss, but here you are. 

Hotch stills. 

You almost crack a smile. “My, my…” You click your tongue, shaking your head. 

“What?” He snaps, clearly done with your shit, but you know what? You’re done with him, too. 

“Green is  _ not  _ your color, boss,” you chuckle, turning to head for the car. 

You climb into the passenger seat with a deep sigh. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat a moment later, silent as ever.

Hotch doesn’t say a single word until you’re back at the local police station, in the parking lot, to be exact. He shut the car off, but hasn’t moved.

“We need to speak to the victims’ families. If they were best friends, their families should be able to give us some more insight.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Why are we here, then?”

“Because I’m not going with you. Take Reid.” Hotch nearly rips the car door off its hinges as he throws it open.

“Reid?” You haul yourself out of the car, files under your arm. “Reid’s working on victimology and psychological autopsies right now.”

“Then give him the files and take someone else. Prentiss. Morgan. I don’t care.”

“What the hell did I do to you?” You yell after him, hands thrown up in frustration.

Hotch either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care because he keeps walking away and into the police station. You slam the car door shut, ready to scream.

_ Great _ .


	3. Put a price on emotion, I'm looking for something to buy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much Hotch x Reader interaction here (sorry!) because it's that point in the case where the families are talked to and we learn some new things! This chapter's title is from the song "Fine Line" by Harry Styles xx.

Walking into the police station, you find Morgan and Prentiss are back from the crime scenes. You’re leaning more toward taking Morgan with you, but Prentiss might be the better idea.

“Here you go,” you hand the files off to Reid. “This has all of their academic history in there if you wanna have a look.”

“Thanks,” Reid replies, almost seeming excited as he opens the first one.

At least he’ll have the files memorized for all of you.

Hotch is looking at all of the photos JJ must’ve tacked up while you were on campus. You decide not to try talking to him anymore for the rest of the day. You’ve had enough of him, and clearly he’s had enough of you.

Turning, you go to find Morgan or Prentiss. Morgan is the first that you find getting coffee, so you slide in next to him, grabbing your own cup.

“Wanna go talk to some distraught families?”

“Ooh, I think I’m good,” Morgan chuckles. “Hotch isn’t going with you?”

“He bailed,” you murmur, stirring some creamer into your coffee. “He’s still in a mood.” You toss your stirrer in the trash, but apparently you do so a little too aggressively, because Morgan stops you.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, taking a long sip of your coffee. But Morgan is persistent and stares at you. “It’s _nothing_ ,” you repeat. No way in hell are you telling Morgan that Hotch was somewhat fine until the mention of and encounter with your ex-boyfriend. You don’t need anyone following that rabbit hole more than your brain already has.

Because there’s only one explanation, right? He must feel something for you, or he wouldn’t have been so jealous.

Or maybe you’re reading far too much into this. _Damn_ Tracy for putting thoughts in your head.

“You think Emily will wanna go with me?”

Morgan backs off of the other subject for now and nods. “Probably.”

Emily says yes, so ten minutes later, you’re on the road to visit the victims’ families. And coincidentally enough, they all live around the corner from one another.

“How does it feel being home?” Emily asks.

“It doesn’t even feel like I’m home, if I’m honest,” you chuckle, tapping the steering wheel. You opted to drive this time since you’re used to these roads. You don’t need directions and you know the fastest routes, even if Hotch grumbled about it earlier.

“I understand,” Emily sighs, looking out the window. “It’s so pretty here. Growing up must’ve been nice.”

“It was the best,” you admit. “A lot of people don’t leave for that reason. It’s comfortable.”

“Why did you?”

“I knew I wanted to work for the FBI,” you shrug. Somehow it had always seemed as simple as that. “There’s obviously not an office anywhere near here, so I had to leave to find it.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty big goal.”

“It was. Still feels like a dream that I’m actually here.”

“I bet.”

The small talk comes to an end as you park on the street by the first house. 

Kelly Chase. A normal girl with a normal life. Mom and dad, married for thirty years now. No siblings, which is different, but not unusual, because you’re also an only child. She graduated high school in the top five percent of the class. 

You almost feel guilty for not knowing her -- or the other two. You barely remember graduation night. You went for your mom, and you remember feeling suffocated by your cap and gown. 

“God, I hate doing this,” you whisper, mostly to yourself, but Emily nods in agreement.

“It never gets easier.”

“At least we aren’t breaking the news to them,” you say with a shrug. There is always a silver lining, no matter how small.

“Let’s hope they’re up for some questions,” Emily murmurs, reaching up to press the doorbell.

A dog barks inside, footsteps on hardwood, deadbolt sliding out of place, doorknob unlocking. The front door slowly opens to reveal Kelly’s mother, Christine. 

“Can I help you?”

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Y/N L/N--”

“I know who you are, dear,” Christine says firmly, startling you.

“Oh, um...well, this is Agent Prentiss, we’re with the FBI. We’re-- We’re looking into Kelly’s death.”

Realization washes over Christine’s face, like for a few moments she had forgotten, and you see the guilt that comes next. It’s typical with those that are grieving, especially parents grieving the loss of a child. Small moments of bliss come when the death is forgotten, when they slip and almost believe their daughter is upstairs in her room, reading, just like she always has been. Until a reminder comes.

“Of course,” Christine whispers, her eyes glassy. “Come in.”

She holds the door open, allowing you and Emily to step inside. You wait in the hall as Christine closes the door. The distraught mother gestures to the living room silently, afraid that if she opens her mouth too soon, she’ll lose her senses.

Tentatively, you take a seat on the couch, Emily taking the spot next to you. Christine paces for a moment before sitting in the rocking chair by the window.

“You think my baby girl was murdered,” Christine says quietly, beginning to rock. She keeps her eyes focused on the garden outside. “I think so too.”

You share a look with Emily, nodding for her to ask. “Ma’am, why do you think that? Did anyone dislike Kelly? Maybe an ex-boyfriend or even ex-best friend?”

Christine shakes her head. “Everyone loved Kelly. Everyone.”

“Then why do you think she was murdered?”

“It’s the other two girls. They died the same way.”

“Did Kelly have any mental health issues? Did she see a therapist?” It’s a bit of a taboo subject here and you know it. There’s a reason when you went to therapy after your dad left that you referred to it strictly as “the doctor.” You wouldn’t be surprised to find out everyone in town thought you had a chronic illness of some kind. Because they’d believe _cancer_ before they believe _depression_. It’s what happens in a small town.

Christine shakes her head again. “She would’ve talked to me.”

“Ma’am, I know it’s hard,” Emily pauses. “But if she was struggling, it’s possible she might have kept it from you. It’s a common thing for kids to do, especially in families like this.”

Christine’s head snaps over, eyes narrowed. “Families like this? Are you saying our family life got my daughter _killed_?”

“Not at all,” Emily begins, but you motion for her to stop.

“Christine…” You breathe. “Do you remember when my dad left?”

She nods slowly. “Everyone remembers. We all felt so bad for you and your momma.”

“Well, I went to therapy,” you admit, seeing Christine almost visibly grimace. Bingo. “And it really helped me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I had a big stressor. A reason everyone knew because they saw and heard when my dad left. But if Kelly was struggling and there was no reason she could grab onto -- no family member dying, no divorce -- then she might’ve kept her struggles to herself. She might’ve believed she had no reason to be feeling the way she was--”

“Are you implying that my daughter _killed herself_?”

“We don’t know,” you admit, which is the complete truth. 

“Then what are you even doing here? The FBI doesn’t get involved in no suicides.”

“No, we don’t,” you say. “But we’re operating on the chance that these were murders. And if there’s anyone that comes to mind -- anyone at all -- that made Kelly uncomfortable, seemed to dislike her for no reason, or anything, please call.”

You place a card down on the coffee table. Christine doesn’t look up from her hands.

“We’ll show ourselves out. Thank you for your time,” you murmur, motioning for Emily to follow.

You place your forehead down on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. Emily’s hand rubs circles on your back.

“One down,” she whispers. “Two to go.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, shaking your head, a nagging thought refusing to leave your mind. “Uh, can you call Hotch?” You would call him, but you’re about to drive, and something tells you if he saw your name come up, he might not answer right now.

Starting the engine, Emily dials Hotch. He answers before you even put the car in drive.

“What have you got?”

“Hey Hotch,” you say, turning the steering wheel. You decide to just get right to the point. “Are we absolutely certain this isn’t a suicide pact?”

Emily looks over at you with wide eyes, pieces falling into place. She hadn’t even thought of it, but it might be true. It’s a possible theory. 

Hotch is silent for a moment. “Why?”

His silence only causes you to doubt yourself. “Forget it. Never mind.”

“No, explain, please,” he says, almost desperate. “What are you thinking?”

“Okay, listen,” you pause. “When my dad left and I went to therapy, it was...unheard of around here. Mental health is just… They think it’s ridiculous. That there’s no reason to be depressed or anxious or fucked up in general because you’re in this _amazing_ town.”

Choosing to ignore your f-bomb, Hotch says, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” you pause again, gathering yourself. “When I would think about killing myself, I knew what it would do to the town. That was one of the reasons I didn’t. My mom was going through enough scrutiny with my dad leaving. These girls could’ve had the same thoughts, but as we know, suicide pacts...make it easier. They know they aren’t going down alone. And it makes sense for this town to want to believe they were murdered rather than killed by their own hand.”

Hotch is still quiet, but you hear him sigh. You can’t see it, but he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew your dad left when you were young because you’re open about relating to those with deadbeat dads. But you thinking about killing yourself? The thought makes him sick.

“None of them left notes, that we know of,” you say again, mostly to bring yourself out of the hole you just dug. “But the way their wrists were slit, the toxicology, I mean they could’ve gotten antifreeze from the garage. If they were best friends, it’s…”

“It’s possible,” he agrees. “Have you spoken to all of the families?”

“Not yet, just Kelly’s mom. We’re heading to Jennifer’s parent’s home now.”

“Good. Finish talking to the families, and then we’ll reconvene here. We’ll talk more once you get back.”

“Okay.”

Hotch knows he’s on speaker, but he’ll kick himself if he doesn’t ask. “Are you okay?”

Emily’s eyes flick to the phone and then to you. It’s not unusual for Hotch to check up on his team members, but the softness that coats his words now? That’s unusual.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you when we get back.”

Emily ends the call and stays silent. You’re grateful in that moment for her silence. It’s going to take all of your energy to talk to these next two families.

+++

Jennifer Richardson’s parents said about the same as Kelly’s mom. Someone murdered their daughter. They didn’t appreciate the speculation that their Jennifer could’ve done something like this to herself. And they were glad to see you, though they wanted you to get the FBI to “do their job.”

You didn’t bother informing them that you and the rest of your team are already doing your job.

The visit with the Richardsons was about as short as it was with Kelly’s mother. Next stop: Natalie Manners’ residence.

“Last one,” Emily says, almost sounding relieved. She reaches for the doorbell, but doesn’t find one, so she knocks.

A few seconds later, the front door is opening, revealing Eric, Natalie’s dad -- well, technically her step-dad because her biological father is the one she despises, but obviously she didn’t call him “dad.”

“Can I help you?” Eric asks, then, almost in the same breath, says, “Y/N L/N? Is that you?”

“It is, sir,” you offer a smile, even though you genuinely don’t remember him. “I’m officially Agent L/N, though, and this is Agent Prentiss.” You both show your badges as usual, though you’re positive every family would’ve probably let you inside to talk without seeing them.

“Come on in,” Eric steps back, holding the door for you two. “My wife is in the bedroom right now. She’s still…”

You nod in understanding. Behind you, Emily says, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Eric whispers, but quickly moves forward. “Um, I’m assuming you’re here to ask some questions about Natalie. You think it was murder, don’t you?”

“We don’t know yet, sir,” Emily replies slowly, testing the waters.

“Do you think your wife would want to join us?” You ask, not wanting to step on any toes by accidentally excluding her.

“I...I can ask.”

Eric disappears down the hall. You hear a bedroom door opening, a few words, and then the door closes again. The same thing happens, but the voice is different, and you realize it’s Natalie’s little sister, Belle. 

Eric returns and shakes his head. “My wife says she has a headache and Belle is… She’s hurting the most, I think.”

“It’s not a competition,” you say gently. “This is a difficult time. I can’t imagine what you’re all going through.”

“Yes,” Eric wipes under his eyes and takes another deep, shaking breath. “What can I help you with?”

You nod to Emily to start. “Did Natalie have any mental health issues that you know of?”

Eric shakes his head, like all the other parents. But given the situation with Natalie’s biological father, you think it improbable that she didn’t, at some point, run into some depression, anxiety, or even something as small as anger management or abandonment issues.

But Eric swears she was fine. “She was… She’d light up a room, you know? She had such a bright future ahead of her, she--” He stops himself, clearing his throat. “I don’t think she would’ve killed herself. She didn’t leave a note.”

“Sometimes they don’t,” you shrug. “We’re investigating now on the assumption that they were murders, but we have to exhaust every option. Um, did Natalie -- besides her biological father -- have any issues with anyone? An ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend?”

“I don’t think Frank had anything to do with this,” Eric shakes his head, visibly upset at the mention of Natalie’s biological father. “The bastard fucked off to some country in Europe four years ago and hasn’t reached out since. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

You nod, making a silent note to get Garcia to confirm that. “Anyone else? Ex-boyfriend?”

“She was dating some fella, but he studied abroad in England one semester and...that was it. He packed up and went to England for grad school and I think...he’s a British citizen now.”

Another thing for Garcia to confirm, just to be sure. “Okay. Is there anyone at all that comes to mind? Even a family member? I know it’s hard to think about.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Eric sighs. “I wish I could help more.”

“It’s alright,” Emily says, reassuring.

From the corner of your eye, you see movement in the hallway. You quickly glance over, finding Natalie’s younger sister poking her head out of her door. Belle can’t be older than fourteen, and she ducks back into her room after making eye contact. 

You turn back to Natalie’s father. “Would you mind if I tried to speak to her sister?” 

He shrugs. “You can try. She told me she was watching a movie, which is code for ‘go away.’”

You chuckle. “I understand. I won’t bother her if she doesn’t want to talk.”

Emily asks some more questions while you venture down the hall. Surprisingly, the door to Natalie’s room is open wide. It’s clear the bed has been made, probably something her mother did, which is common. Making the bed, vacuuming the floor, getting it ready for when her daughter will return. Even though she never will.

Natalie’s room is incredibly average. Minimalistic, as well. Textbooks take up two of the five shelves on her bookshelf. Her desk is somewhat neat, a notebook left open, highlighters and pens scattered. Nothing about her room suggests that she would be suicidal, but then again, sometimes nothing does.

You turn and find Belle has closed her door after you spotted her. Gently, you knock on the door. If she doesn’t answer, you’ll slide your card under her door and walk away. But you hope she’ll open up.

A few seconds pass, and your hope dies. Sighing, you bend down to slide your card under door, only to gasp quietly when she takes it from you. So she’s there, at least.

“Belle,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling. But we-- I want to put your sister’s soul at rest. So if you know anything that might help us do that, or...even if you need someone to talk to. Call me, okay?”

It’s faint, but you hear her reply. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you smile softly, glad she at least got your message. “Take care of yourself.”

You walk back to the living room, greeting Emily and Eric with a small smile. “I gave her my number,” you tell him. “Just in case she thinks of anything or if she wants to talk. I hope that’s okay.”

He nods, almost seeming grateful. “Thank you.”

“I think that’s all the questions we have,” Emily says, wrapping things up. “If you think of anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. Anything helps, no matter how small.”

Eric nods, then stops, and nearly pales. “There is one thing.”

“What is it?”

“A few months ago, probably early March, she… I don’t know. Something happened, but she… She wouldn’t talk about it. She swore she was alright, and she looked like she was, I mean, we went on our family vacation and she wasn’t pulling away. I could just tell she was different. You know your daughter, you know? Something had happened, but I wasn’t gonna pry.”

“Okay. Early March,” you share a look with Emily. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, recovering slightly. “I’ll show you guys out.”

The first thing Emily does when the two of you get back in the car is dial Hotch. 

You don’t bother with greetings when the line connects. “Natalie’s dad said sometime around early March he noticed she seemed off. She never pulled away or showed any signs of suicide, but he said he knew something had happened.”

“Early March,” Hotch repeats. “Anything else?”

“I think Natalie’s younger sister, Belle, might know something. She’s only fourteen, though, so I don’t know if she’ll talk to us. I gave her my number just in case.”

“Good. See you when you get back.” He ends the call.

You pull out onto the road, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “She’s a college student,” you start rambling aloud. 

Emily finishes your thought. “What happens in early March in college? Any big tests or projects or…?”

Then, like a tidal wave, it smacks you. “Midterms.” You pause, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on the road. “But if it was just a bad grade on a midterm, then...I can see why he’d think something was off, but she’d swear she was fine. She probably got her grade up, but it just worried her at first.”

“Maybe it was a class she needed to graduate? A final requirement?”

“Maybe…” You nod slowly. “I remember being stressed about stuff like that, too. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with her death.”

“We can’t rule anything out,” Emily reminds you.

“I know, I just…” You pause. “I feel so guilty. These girls are my age, I mean, we went to the same high school. I was just so...ready to get into college classes. I never knew them.”

“The parents knew you.”

“The parents around here talk all the time. Grocery stores, doctors' offices. Hell, even at traffic lights. A lot of them knew each other when they were growing up.”

“This really is a small town,” Emily laughs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “It suffocates you sometimes.”

You just wonder if it suffocated Kelly, Jennifer, and Natalie, too. 


	4. These places and these faces are getting old, so I'm going home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No big chapter warnings here! Except for *gasp* some fluff toward the end, and a (good) cliffhanger!

Upon entering the police station, you make a beeline for the conference room where Reid is with the files.

“Reid. Please tell me you read the files.”

“Of course I did,” he almost seems offended by your question. “These girls were remarkably smart. All of them were honors, and in that accelerated program? That would’ve saved me so much time when I was--”

“Reid,” you stop him. “Natalie. What were her midterm grades this March? Any of them bad? Or not even _bad_ , but something like a C minus?”

He thinks, then nods. “She had a C plus, actually, in her chemistry course. But her final grade was an A minus.”

“C plus,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

You remember hearing the phrase C’s get degrees when you would stress out over classes that were throwing you for a loop. A C plus to you is good. But of course, to a perfectionist like Natalie, that must’ve shocked her to her core. Enough that her dad would notice a small drop in her mood, but since she raised the grade, she went back to her normal self.

It probably has jack shit to do with how or why she died, but it’s a small detail that you were right about, and for that, you count it as a small victory.

“What is this about?” Hotch asks, making himself known and nearly scaring you shitless.

“Next time, say something instead of standing there like a ghost,” you mutter. “I was right. Natalie’s midterm grade for chemistry was a C plus. She had an A minus by the end of the course, but she’s a perfectionist. A C plus would’ve scared the hell out of her. That’s why she was acting weird.”

Before Hotch can reply, Reid starts talking again. “She had the class with Jennifer and Kelly. They were lab partners.”

“They were best friends,” you shrug. “And it’s a small college. I used to take courses to be with my friends, too.”

“Like Trevor?”

His name sends a bolt of anger through you and you grit your teeth, turning to glare at Hotch. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. He knows your answer. And you know that he knows, because he leaves the room without another word.

Reid sits at the table, confused. “Who is Trevor?”

“You don’t want to know,” you mutter, flopping down in a chair. You fish your phone out of your pocket to dial Garcia.

“Speak and ye shall be heard.”

“ _Babe_. I need some good news.”

“That’s what I’m here for, sugar,” Garcia replies, no doubt through a grin. “What can I do you for?”

“Natasha Manners, one of our victims. Her biological father is supposedly in Europe right now, but I wanted to see if you could get confirmation for me.”

A few beats of silence pass. “He is. A German citizen, actually. Looks like he’s married, too.”

“Interesting.” Knock that one out. “Okay, Natalie had a boyfriend that moved to England.”

“I’m gonna need more information than that, honey.”

“I know, I know. I think his name was James...Moore. James Moore. Natalie’s dad said he’s supposedly a British citizen now.”

“James...Arnold Moore, became a British citizen two years ago, used to reside in that sleepy town you’re in now.”

“Great,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. Part of you had hoped it was one of them, but nothing can be so easy, can it? “Thanks.”

“Glad to be of service.”

Feeling defeated by the dead ends, you push back from the table, leaving the conference room in search of the coffee machine.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, you’re not sure yet), you find Hotch at said coffee machine, staring it down like he wants to destroy it and then set it on fire for good measure.

“Careful,” you tease, sliding in next to him. “It works better if you don’t stare at it.”

Hotch turns and looks at you, almost surprised that your anger from a moment ago disappeared so quickly. “Right.”

“Here,” you murmur, grabbing the cup from his hand and sticking it under the dispenser. You press the button, filling the disposable cup with (probably) shitty coffee. While you’re handing him the cup, your fingers brush, and it’s cliché, the way lightning shoots up your arm.

In an effort to distract yourself, you begin rambling. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring up the suicide pact theory until now.” You grab yourself a cup, filling it to the brim. “I guess I fell into the same mindset they have here. Thinking that would never happen, not here,” you scoff, more annoyed with yourself than anything else.

“It’s okay,” Hotch says, which isn’t what you were expecting. “Are you okay? Everything you said…”

“Is in the past,” you finish for him, offering a small smile. “I’m fine now. Wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if I wasn’t.”

“Don’t make me order another,” Hotch says, tone teasing, but you know there’s some truth hidden in his words.

“Order away,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your coffee and grimacing. It’s shitty indeed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, and if you weren’t mistaken, you think he might actually be concerned right now. Like, genuinely. “Not just earlier. But in general. We are in your hometown.”

“Yeah, we are,” you nod, refraining from making a witty remark about his excellent observation. “It doesn’t feel like it, honestly. Because this...this just doesn’t happen here. Not in the town I remember growing up in. It’s changed a lot.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

Aaron Hotchner making small talk with you over coffee? Who knew. 

“I came back for a weekend a few months ago, but that was nothing. It was a day trip, basically. The last time I was here for longer than a weekend was…” You pause. “God. Before I took that job at the BCI.”

“Wow,” Hotch raises his eyebrows. “That long.”

“Only a couple years,” you shrug. “Seems longer than it has been.” You gaze down at your coffee, watching your distorted reflection in the dark liquid. “I feel so much older than I am.” You almost whisper it, but it’s loud enough. 

Hotch wants to say something, maybe something to comfort you, because you didn’t say that comment with exactly a happy expression. There’s so much you aren’t telling him, too much that you’ve gone through in your twenty-three years. That much became clear to him on the phone earlier. 

But he’s not supposed to concern himself with the private lives of the team. Not with anything that won’t affect their performance, at least. If it’s not a criminal record or deep psychological issue, then he shouldn’t concern himself with it. He should leave it alone. 

He should.

He wants to ask more, know more, but you mumble something about getting dinner soon, and you’re gone. 

Hotch goes back to thinking about the three women. Their slit wrists, poison in their veins. 

He hopes there won’t be a fourth.

+++

After dinner, which you and Morgan picked up for the whole team, you go over the profile -- which is basically nothing.

“The toxicology report shows they had high amounts of ethylene glycol in their system. This is commonly found in antifreeze and other readily available products. This suggests that whoever this was, isn’t powerful enough to dominate these women without it. Since it has a sweet taste, it is possible that they ingested it without knowing, so the unsub might have tricked them,” Reid finishes rambling to the officers.

“We don’t want this advertised to the media any more than it already has been,” JJ speaks next. “We aren’t sure yet who we’re dealing with, and until then, we need to keep any advancements quiet.”

Hotch nods firmly, taking over. “We are also investigating this on the assumption that it could possibly be a suicide pact.” He glances over at you, and you nod.

“Suicide pacts are rare, but not impossible,” you begin, standing from where you were leaned against the table. The officers have varying expressions. Some disbelief, some disgust, others completely blank from shock. “I know suicide is something that is taboo around here, but please, don’t turn your head away just because you think it wouldn’t happen here. Mental illnesses have no specific age, demographic, or geographic preference. Given the views of the town, it is possible that if this was a suicide pact, these women might have chosen the method because they knew they weren’t going down alone. It’s twisted, but the pact can be seen as a bonding experience, and sometimes makes the act of suicide easier, knowing someone is doing it with them.”

The room is silent. As you expect.

“We aren’t sure which it is, so these could be murders.”

An officer raises his hand. “How will we know for sure?”

You hear Hotch sigh. You’re all thinking the same thing. But being the unit leader, he has to voice it.

“If there’s another body.”

Silence covers the room again, but it’s true. If this was a suicide pact only between the three women, then it is over and done with now. But if not, well, another woman -- or women -- could be dying right now.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You always hate the beginning of cases. When there isn’t enough information to find the unsub, so you’re forced to wait for more bodies, or some new information -- though it is usually the former, sadly. It would make any normal human feel helpless, so you know you aren’t alone or invalid for feeling the way you do, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.

After a few more points and questions, the officers are dismissed, and the team begins to pack up for the night.

“You can continue going over the case file, but get some rest,” Hotch says, in a tone that tells everyone it’s an order rather than a suggestion.

As you’re grabbing the file, you feel an obvious thought smack you in your face.

You don’t need a hotel room. You’re in your hometown. The hotel here is pretty small, anyways. You’re better just crashing at your mom’s place.

Emily, Morgan, JJ, and Reid leave first, eager to get to the hotel and get some rest, leaving you alone with Hotch. Again.

“Um, I’m going to just crash at my mom’s house,” you say hesitantly, knowing the hotel rooms are probably already paid for. “I should’ve figured that out before the rooms were reserved, but I just thought of it.”

Hotch looks up from his phone, almost surprised to find you talking to him. “Okay. I can drive you.”

“No, that’s okay--”

“Y/N,” Hotch interrupts you, giving you a stern look. “You’re not walking or catching a ride in this town when there could be a killer on the loose.” 

“Okay, fine,” you agree, knowing there is no use in arguing with Hotch. “Or are you just trying to get my address?”

Hotch gives you another look, one you can’t read, as he gathers his things. “Let’s go.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter, half teasing, but Hotch nearly groans. 

You almost never call him sir unless you’re being entirely serious, but this time it was almost teasing. It shouldn’t make him feel the way it does.

All he’s doing is driving you home, yet he feels...nervous.

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t get nervous. Unless it’s you.

“I remember walking home from the police station at odd hours of the night,” you start rambling. “When I’d get picked up for something stupid, and they’d let me go after talking to my mom, but my punishment was that I had to walk home.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “You had a record?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It only happened twice. They said if there was a third that it would go on my record, but that’s when my mom sent me to therapy. I stopped acting out then.” You chuckle at another memory. “I went to a donut shop and bought two dozen and went back to the station with them. I used to hang out there all the time. I almost thought about becoming an officer.”

“But you chose the FBI,” Hotch says absentmindedly. “Why?” He realizes now that he’s never actually asked you this, not seriously.

“I don’t know…” You breathe, even though you gave Emily an answer earlier. “I guess I wanted something bigger. This town is nice and all, but I needed to get away.”

“From what?”

It’s then that you realize you chose the wrong words. You meant to say “get out” because that’s common, needing to get out of your hometown. People write hit songs about that feeling. But “get away” is different. “Get away” crosses the line to imply that you’re running from something or someone. And you were, so Aaron is correct in asking what you needed to get away _from_ , but you don’t want to answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. 

“This is mine,” you point to your right.

Your childhood home sits just on top of the hill, the lake down below. You rolled down the hill one too many times as a kid. Thank God you knew how to swim. 

Aaron pulls into the driveway, even though you told him to just drop you off at the street. The porchlight is still on, no doubt turned on by your mother even though you didn’t tell her you were coming. She knows you all too well, though. She probably knew you’d come home for the night before you had even decided.

Hotch nearly turns the engine off and unbuckles, but he stops himself. It’s too easy to feel like he’s dropping you off after a date. It’s too easy to feel like he should walk you to your door, kiss you softly, tell you that he’ll call and then call five minutes later because he misses your voice, and you’d laugh, tell him he’s crazy, but you wouldn’t hang up.

Too easy.

“See you in the morning,” you smile tiredly, hauling yourself out of the car.

“See you. Sleep well.”

The comment catches you off guard a little, Aaron can tell because you scrunch up your nose and murmur, “You...too?” It’s not something he ever says. Not like that. Not like he genuinely wants you to have a good night’s rest. Not with that soft expression and almost-smile.

You shake your head to yourself as you shut the car door. You need some sleep. You’re imagining things.

Aaron watches you as you practically skip up to the front porch, your excitement manifesting in your movements as you pull the storm door open, twisting the door knob. Surprisingly, it opens, and he sees you hugging your mother as tight as you possibly can.

Once he sees that you’re safely inside, he puts the car in reverse, and backs down the driveway.

It’s too easy. Too easy to fall for you.

+++

You’ve barely made it inside when your mom starts in with the questions.

“Who dropped you off? What’s his name? Is he your boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend you aren’t telling me about? Y/N L/N, if you aren’t telling me--”

“Gee, I’m glad to see you too, momma,” you chuckle, dropping your go-bag on the floor by the couch. “That was Hotch. My boss.”

“Your boss, hm?” Your mother raises her eyebrows, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What’d you say his name was? Aaron?”

You could glare at her, but you don’t. “Yes, Aaron Hotchner. We call him Hotch.” It feels strange to refer to him any other way. You’d like to call him Aaron, but you’re afraid you’d be crossing a line that you could never come back from.

As if you haven’t done that already by letting your feelings for him develop past the initial thought of, “He’s attractive.”

“What’s he like?” Your mom asks, walking off into the kitchen.

You follow her, but not after you flick the deadbolt and lock the front door. 

“First, we need to talk about you locking the doors at night. Are the windows even locked, woman?” You walk over to the window over the sink, finding it to be very much unlocked. With a frown, you lock it. “What am I going to do with you?” You ask teasingly, hands on your hips.

“Oh, please,” she waves you away, going back to putting up the dishes. “Go lock them if it’ll make you feel better. But you know how I forget. Nothing happens in this town, anyway.”

“There might be a killer on the loose!” You yell as you walk through the house, locking windows. The only one that was locked was the one in the bathroom. Good grief.

Once you’re finished securing the house, you find your mom in the living room, two glasses of wine in front of her. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, one’s for you. Come sit. And take that gun off, for Pete’s sake.”

You grin, missing her banter. You take the gun off as requested, but you place it on the coffee table next to the wine (this earns you a glare, so you move it beside you on the arm of the couch). 

“Now,” your mom taps her wine glass to yours. “What’s this Aaron Hotchner like?”

You know what she’s doing, but you still decide to humor her, too tired not to. “He’s divorced. Has a son whose name is Jack. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s really sweet.” You pause to take a sip of your wine. “He’s...I don’t know, cold? Annoyingly intelligent, hardly ever smiles, never laughs at my jokes,” you scoff, but you’re fighting back your own grin. What is it about him that makes you want to smile? You’re really digging your own grave.

Your mom knows it, too. “Now that you’ve got all the reasons why you shouldn’t out of your system, why do you love him?”

You choke on your wine, eyes widening. “Love him? Who the hell said anything about love?”

“Your smile did, and watch the language.”

You don’t know why she still says that to you because you’ve definitely heard her cuss like a sailor before -- and not to mention, you’re an adult. “My smile said no such thing.”

She only hums, taking a long swig of wine.

“Besides,” you mutter. “Did I mention he’s my boss?”

“You did, but I don’t think he cares.”

“You’ve never even met him!”

“He drove you here! I saw him wait until you were inside to leave. Those headlights didn’t pass the curtains until you had shut the door.”

“He did the bare minimum for a friend.”

“Oh, but you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Alright,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m gonna need more wine if you’re gonna do this to me all night.”

After retrieving more wine, you feel much better.

“I saw Trevor today,” you blurt, staring down at your hands. “Tracy brought him up and then I bumped into him.”

Your mom frowns. “You haven’t told her what happened?”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Barely,” you snort. “Hotch was with me. Trevor left pretty quickly when Hotch showed his badge.”

“I’m liking this Hotch more and more…”

You chuckle, thumb swiping some of the condensation away from the glass. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Me too.”

Before your mom can interrogate you further, the doorbell rings, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s almost ten at night, who the hell is here?

Your mom stands to answer the door, thinking nothing of it, but you hold out your hand, stopping her. She grumbles a little, but sits back down. 

You stand instead and grab your gun, but not without your mom whisper-yelling, “You don’t need a damn gun to answer the door!”

 _“Shh!”_ You hiss back, walking slowly to the front. You try to peek through the window, but it’s hard with the blinds closed.

You unlock the deadbolt and wish silently that there was a peephole. Holding your gun behind your leg, your finger hovering by the trigger, you crack the door open to reveal…

“Hotch?” You blurt, blinking rapidly, wondering if this is the wine, but you’ve only had a glass and a half. As you pull the door open more, you see the rest of the team behind him. “Did something happen?”

Morgan bounds the steps of the front porch, go-bag in hand, and spots the gun in yours and a wild expression on your face. He holds his free hand up in mock surrender, cracking a smile. “Damn, momma. Planning on shootin’ somebody?”

“I’m so sorry,” Hotch starts, ignoring Morgan’s remark. “The hotel was full.”

“It’s pretty small,” you chuckle, trying to appear as sober as you absolutely can because it’s _technically_ illegal for you to be operating a firearm while inebriated, let alone a _government-issued_ one. “I was afraid of it filling up.”

Before you can open your mouth to explain who is at the door, your mom is at your side, wine glass in hand, and devious smile on her lips. She recognizes Hotch immediately. 

“You’re all more than welcome to stay here,” she says before you can stop her. “We’ve got a guest bedroom and the couch, and an air mattress or two in the basement.”

Hotch glances at you, but you know better than to argue with your mother, so with a pained smile, you hold the door open. “Come on in.”


	5. What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ~suggestive~ moment and few words, irresponsible drinking, and a lot of pining with unrequited love. Oh yeah.

The last thing you expected from this case was that you’d be inviting the entirety of the team into your childhood home, and having them meet your mother.

You’re _mortified_.

Morgan wraps your mom in a tight hug after calling her “Momma L/N” and kissing her knuckles. _What a charmer_.

Everyone else is remarkably tame compared to Morgan, though Emily does spot the wine in your mom’s hand and immediately asks if there’s any more. Your mom points to the kitchen with a wink, and then Emily is off, Morgan hot on her heels, telling her, “Not so fast!”

JJ smiles warmly and thanks your mom for letting them stay. Spencer does the same, only with a wave instead of a hug. His demeanor has your mom asking, “Are you even old enough to be in the FBI?”

“ _Mom_ ,” you groan, looking at Spencer with a grimace. “That’s the wine in her system talking, sorry.”

“No worries. Hey, did you know that--” You tune him out as he begins spewing facts to your mom about the effects of alcohol and how it lowers one’s guard, blah, blah, blah…

Hotch is the last one in, not surprisingly at all. He does one last sweep of the street before he pulls the front door closed, and locks it.

You avert your eyes from his, suddenly very worried about the fact that he’s here, in your childhood home, and you’re buzzed. Not drunk, but definitely buzzed. Normally, you wouldn’t be worried. But there’s a reason you nurse a single beer for an entire night when Hotch tags along to a bar -- yet you’ll get smashed when he’s not around.

He moves to greet your mom with a firm handshake, and as usual, she pulls him into a hug. “Thank you for opening your home to us,” he says, sounding sincere. 

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart,” your mom smiles, laying it on thick, giving you a look that makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs.

Since you can’t, you opt for escaping. “I’m gonna go get the air mattresses from the basement.”

You don’t wait for her reply before you bolt to the basement door and down the stairs. Normally, the basement terrifies you. But in your haste to get away, you didn’t put your gun down, so you’re at least protected. 

You strap your gun back on your belt to make things easier as you search for the damn air mattresses.

You have no fucking clue where they’ll be. They haven’t been used in years. Hell, they could have holes in them by now for all you know.

After staring at the shelves for a few moments, you think you spot what could be the air mattresses, rolled up in their bags. They’re made for camping, but obviously you don’t camp. They must’ve been your dad’s, but you’ve never asked.

The problem is, though, they’re on the top shelf.

Of course.

Grumbling under your breath, you turn in circles, searching for a step ladder or something, but alas, there’s nothing. Only boxes of seasonal decorations and you know your mom would skin you alive if you stood on one of them and unknowingly broke her favorite ornament or something.

You think about calling back up the stairs for someone else, but you decide against it. You can just climb on the shelves. You probably just need a small boost, like the first shelf, so it’s fine.

You’re too focused on retrieving the air mattresses to hear the footsteps on the stairwell. Which explains why you shout, “ _HOLYSHIT_ ” at your boss when he says, “What are you doing?” with a little too much authority that it makes your heart slam into your chest for a reason other than panic.

You cling to the shelves like you’re Spiderman or something, chest heaving as Hotch watches on with an amused glint in his eyes.

“I’m trying to get the air mattresses down, duh,” you mutter through a deep breath. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you should’ve just asked for help.”

“Nah,” you groan, stretching up to grab onto the strings of the bag holding the air mattresses. “I’ve got it.”

Well, you think you’ve got it. Because as soon as you tug on the bag, it comes loose, but so does a few other things. Then, to make matters worse, your foot slips, and you nearly bite it.

You would have fallen right on your ass, maybe smacked your head on the concrete too, if it weren’t for Hotch’s quick thinking.

You’re not sure how it all happened so fast. One moment you’re clinging to the shelves, then your foot slips, and now you’re…

You’re on the floor. 

You’re on top of your boss. _Oh my god_.

Rather than doing the right thing, which would be to roll off of him and apologize profusely, your idiot brain (you blame the wine) decides that you should bury your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment.

It works, for a total of two seconds, until you’re assaulted by his cologne and the smell that just is Aaron Hotchner. Your breath hitches, which he no doubt notices because you’re literally laying on top of him.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should’ve helped you up as soon as you fell. He knows the two of you shouldn’t still be lying on the ground like this, not when the entire team is just upstairs, and probably heard that crash.

But he doesn’t move. You’ve buried your face in his chest and it’s the cutest fucking thing he’s witnessed in years. So much so that he starts laughing, unable to stop.

The sound alarms you, and you lift your head, your eyes wide as you find your boss laughing at you. _He’s fucking laughing_.

It’s contagious, too, because before you know it, you’re laughing as well.

“I’m so sorry,” you snort, dropping your head again. “Did I hurt you?” Your words are muffled by his dress shirt.

“No, I’m alright,” Aaron says through another laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m mortified, but physically I’m just fine.” You lift your head again, logic finally kicking in (took long enough) and prompting you to start shifting off of him.

You try to. You really do.

But his hands are on your arms, and one of your hands is on his chest, and it’d be so easy for you to just...brush the back of your hand over his jaw, up his cheek. You almost do it, too, he tempts you too much, licks his lips. You’re not an idiot. You see the way his eyes flick down to your lips, then back to your eyes, quick as a flash of lightning, like he knows it’s a bad idea.

He knows. God, he knows.

But then your leg shifts, your thigh brushing right against his semi-hard on, and he holds back a groan. The wine has made you bold, too bold, because you almost try again, try to get him to stop holding back. You want to, but…

Footsteps.

 _Shit_. _Footsteps_.

You scramble off of your boss and to your feet, straightening your shirt and kicking a box out of the way. Hotch stands, too, his eyes not meeting yours as he smooths his shirt, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to face an unsub.

Spencer’s face pokes out from the stairs, eyebrows furrowed. “You guys okay?”

You nod, smiling. “Just looking for the air mattresses, but I think we found them.”

Spencer, despite being an FBI profiler, is incredibly oblivious. “Cool! I’ll tell your mom.” And just like that, he’s hopping back up the stairs, two at a time, too full of energy for this late at night.

You sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose. They’ve barely been here for fifteen minutes.

Hotch bends down and picks up what you were reaching for. After confirming that it’s the air mattress, he tucks it under his arm, and heads up the stairs without another word.

Wonderful. Now you’ve got that to deal with.

You kick the box again, this time out of frustration. _Idiot_. You absolute moron.

If he doesn’t tell you you’re being transferred out of the BAU after this case, it’ll be a damn miracle.

You wonder for a moment if you dreamt the encounter. If it weren’t for the mess on the floor, you’d think he was never here at all, that it was only your imagination.

But the rumble of his laughter was too real. The smell of his cologne. The weight of his hands on your arms.

Shit. You’re worse off than you thought.

You spot the other air mattress on the ground and grab it, figuring you’ve spent long enough down here. Your mom will be suspicious enough as it is since Hotch came down to help -- though you wouldn’t be surprised to find out she put him up to it.

You flick the light off as you bound the stairs, dreading when you reach the top.

As you shut the stairwell door, you find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Reid all crowding around your mom on the couch, an open scrapbook in her lap.

“Those better not be my baby pictures,” you call out, walking past them to the kitchen. You toss the air mattress to Morgan who catches it with ease, setting it down on the floor.

“You were so cute!” JJ replies, gushing.

Screaming fills the living room when a particularly embarrassing photo of you appears. You don’t even want to know.

You need something to drink. Not wine. Something stronger. You know there has to be something.

Apparently, Aaron had the same idea, because you find him leaned against the kitchen counter. The sight alone startles you because he’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons, and rolled his sleeves up, too. His suit jacket is nowhere to be seen, and you think it must be a crime, seeing him like this. He almost looks naked.

What a sight that would be.

Averting your eyes before you get yourself in trouble, you squat down and reach into the back of the cabinet, grabbing the bottle of vodka you had hoped was there. You stand back up, feeling Aaron’s eyes burning on your back. You grab a shot glass and fill it to the brim, knocking it back.

You’re three shots in when Hotch’s hand rests on your arm, ordering you to stop.

But you’re feeling it now, and his orders mean nothing to you. 

“Want one?” You ask, blinking a little too much. “It’s good.” Too good. He looks good. He looks _too good_. It’s a sin. It must be. He should be sent to Hell immediately for it.

His hand covers yours, taking the shot glass from you and moving it away. His other hand stops you from grabbing another, and it’s enough to make you pout.

“You’re not getting wasted when we’re working a case. I can’t have a hungover agent,” he says sternly, voice low, but it’s not like the team would hear. Every few seconds there’s a loud aww or squeal at a new photo of you.

“I _need_ to be wasted,” you mumble, shaking his hands away. “ _You_ can’t look at me like that,” your words are surprisingly clear for someone who is getting drunker by the second. That third shot was a bad idea. You know you’re a lightweight. What were you thinking?

“Like what?”

“Like you _want me_ ,” you reply, like it was obvious, and to drive your point home, you poke his chest. Stupid tears well in your eyes, but they don’t fall. “It _hurts_ , Aaron,” you whisper, poking him again. “Hurts too much. You can’t.”

He knows you’re not thinking straight, but God, he wants to kiss you. It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name, and he doesn’t want you to ever stop. He needs to hear it again, and again, and again, and again…

The room spins and Aaron holds onto you, your lifeline, your _stupid_ love, Aaron Hotchner. Such a bad idea. Yet you want more.

You tip your chin up, getting dangerously close to his face. You feel his breath as it hits your cheek and you want to really cry now. Being so close, but not close enough. Never close enough. Why is he always so damn far away?

“You’re going to regret this in the morning, Y/N,” Aaron says, barely above a whisper, hands on your arms, a small pull away from pressing you against him.

“Mm, probably, but I regret a lot of things. What’s one more?”

You’re leaning in, and Aaron wants to lean in, too. God, you have no idea how badly he wants to. But you’ve had three shots of vodka just seconds ago, and you probably had wine before they arrived. You’re not drunk enough to black out, but it’s enough that you’re not thinking straight. He knows you wouldn’t act this way if you were sober.

So, he leans away from you. Your forehead hits his chest again and you sigh, the stupid tears having resurfaced once again, only this time they soak into his shirt. Logic is slowly working, and you realize how bad of an idea this is.

You push away from him, the room having righted itself again. You reach around him on the counter and grab a piece of bread, probably left over from your mom’s last trip to Panera. Finally getting out of his grip, you grab a glass and fill it with water, heading back into the living room, where you join the rest of the team.

You’re halfway through the piece of bread and glass of water by the time Aaron enters the living room. Your eyes lock for only a second before you look away, defeated and heartbroken, and feeling stupid for feeling both of those emotions.

You don’t know what you were expecting. These things aren’t simple, and they sure as hell aren’t made easier by the fact that he’s your boss. It’s good that he stopped you.

Now you need to start distancing yourself, physically and mentally, from Aaron.

Starting with referring to him solely as Hotch again. Maybe even “sir,” to keep things as professional as possible. It’s better that way.

Or, it’s how things have to be, so it’ll have to be better. There’s no other option.

+++

You’re groggy as hell when you wake up, despite being in your own bed. You’re surprised you slept at all after last night’s fiasco, but the alcohol in your system knocked you right out.

After changing into your work clothes and making yourself look presentable again, you venture out to the kitchen for some coffee.

You smile at the sight of a sleeping Reid and Morgan on the couch and one of the air mattresses. JJ and Emily must be in the guest bedroom together.

But, of course, because the universe is not (and appears to never be) on your side, Hotch is the only other person awake.

He’s in the kitchen, staring down the coffee pot like he did the machine at the station yesterday. He doesn’t even have his tie on yet, and his shirt isn’t buttoned all the way either. Gathering your composure, you step into the kitchen and flash him your best “everything is okay” smile.

Hotch straightens up when he sees you and murmurs a faint, “Good morning.”

Jesus. His voice. At this hour. That’s damn near lethal.

You press the correct combination of buttons on the coffee pot after making sure that it has water filled to the twelve cup line. Your mom likes her coffee, and so do the rest of the sleeping FBI agents.

“Thank you,” Hotch says quietly, and you hum in response.

He watches as you silently take mugs down from the cabinet, lining them up on the counter like soldiers going to battle.

“Listen, last night--”

“Don’t, Hotch,” you say before he can go any further. You’re embarrassed enough as it is. Hurt, too, but your pride will heal. Hell, maybe you needed a humbling experience. Who knows. “It’s fine. Let’s just ignore it.”

 _I don’t want to ignore it_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Okay.”

You turn and start toward the fridge, grabbing the various creamers from the shelf. Your mom can never tell what mood she’ll be in -- regular, caramel, mocha, and so on and so forth -- so she has a ton at all times.

You return to the counter with an armful of the creamers, and Hotch shuts the fridge door for you. Next, you set the sugar down and grab spoons, laying them out as well. If last night had been less eventful, you probably wouldn’t be doing any of this. But last night was almost too eventful. You need the distraction before you start thinking too much.

The coffee pot starts brewing (finally) and the smell rouses your mom and Emily from their slumber. JJ trails behind, already dressed. Spencer is slowly opening his eyes, and reaches up to shake Morgan. No one tries to ever wake a sleeping Derek Morgan, but since it’s Spencer, it’s safe. Anyone else might get slapped or at least swatted, but never Reid.

“Coffee’s ready,” you call out, giving your mom the first cup.

“Thank you honey,” she seems genuinely endeared by your gesture. “Caramel?”

“Already in there,” you smile, earning a kiss on the cheek.

You fix Reid’s coffee, too, only because it’s easiest, and because you see him standing back, a little too anxious to move, probably from having just woken up. He watches eagerly as you dump sugar into his mug, stir it a few times, and then hand it to him with a smile.

Slowly, the sleeping agents become functioning humans, and leave the kitchen sipping their coffee, off to get dressed and ready for the day. 

Two mugs are left on the counter, and for a second you think you’ve miscounted, until you see Hotch still standing there. Ever the dad, waiting for the team to go first.

You silently fix your coffee while he fixes his, your arms brushing ever so slightly. It’s painfully domestic. It’s exactly what you want.

And exactly what you know you can’t have.


	6. Said "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty heavy chapter here, guys. Shit is starting to hit the fan. One ~suggestive~ moment (where "Make me" is said), but aside from that it's a lot of talk of rape, sexual assault, the works.

You’ve barely stepped foot in the police precinct when an officer stops you, saying someone is there to speak to you.

Hotch eyes you carefully as you follow the officer to the front. He trails behind, wondering who could be here, but then he understands.

“Belle,” you smile brightly, despite everything. She gives a small one in return.

Erik, her father, fills you in. “She just woke me and said she wanted to come talk to you in person. I figured you’d be here.”

“You figured right,” you nod in thanks, deciding against telling him that it looks like Belle hasn’t slept at all. Looking back to her, you ask, “Do you want to speak privately?” 

She nods, says a soft, “Please.”

You look up at Erik, silently asking for permission. It’s not unlike parents to refuse letting their kid alone with an FBI agent, but Erik nods.

“Okay,” you say, gesturing for Belle to follow you. “The only place we have is the stuffy interrogation room, I hope that’s okay?”

Belle nods again. “It’s okay.”

You pass by the conference room and pause, meeting JJ’s eyes. “Would you mind if my friend sat with us? Or do you want it to be just us?”

Belle looks over and JJ waves, offering a gentle smile. It’s enough. Belle nods. “Sure.”

You wave JJ over and head into the interrogation room. You move one of the chairs so you can sit on the corner, rather than directly in front of Belle.

JJ enters with a small notepad and pen, closing the door behind her. She holds up the notepad with a sympathetic smile. “Is it okay if I take some notes?”

“Yeah,” Belle says, tugging on her sleeves. She moves a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and her leg is shaking underneath the table.

“Thank you for coming,” you say first, slouching down a little to be more her height. “What’s going on?”

Belle swallows, eyes darting around before they focus on her hands. “I heard Papa telling you that Nat was feeling bad in March.”

“He did.” After a moment of silence, you ask, “Did she talk to you about it? When she was feeling bad?”

Slowly, Belle nods. “Her grades were bad.”

Again, _bad_ being a relative term.

“But she told me something else. She said--” Belle stops herself, eyes filling. 

You hold out your hand, palm up, an offering. You don’t expect Belle to take it, but she does, squeezing your fingers tightly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Take your time.”

“I told her the grade wasn’t that bad,” Belle starts, almost rambling. “A C isn’t all that bad. I get C’s all the time, but I’m not the brightest anyway. Nat was the smartest. I kept telling her she’d win awards for being so smart. She’d always tell me she already had.” Belle smiles a little, remembering, but then the tears return, and a few slip down her cheeks. “But she can’t stand a C. She told me she was gonna go to um-- To see her teacher. To get some help. She told me I shouldn’t be afraid to get help.”

Quietly, JJ takes notes, but asks one question, “Do you know the name of the teacher she was talking about?”

“Yeah, it was uh...Trevor Rackham.”

The blood in your veins turns to ice.

A sudden flash of a memory nearly knocks you to the floor. Whimpers, moans, telling him _no_ , telling him to _get off_ , but he wouldn’t move, said it would be _fine--_

You tune back into Belle’s voice, broken from her sobs. “She came back after she had seen him and she-- She wasn’t right. You know how you know your sister? I knew something was buggin’ her but she wouldn’t say. Dad noticed too but when he asked her at dinner she said she was alright. I heard her crying in her room late that night so I knocked on her door. She pulled me in and hugged me and--”

You know where this is going. You know exactly where this story is headed. _I’m gonna kill that motherfucker if it’s the last thing I ever fucking do._

“It’s okay,” you say again, squeezing Belle’s hand between both of yours. “It’s okay.”

“She told me not to tell. She didn’t want them to be disappointed in her. She said Momma and Papa couldn’t know. But I wish I would’ve told--” Belle shakes her head, gasping for breath. “She said she told him no, but he didn’t care and it--”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you scoot closer, wrapping an arm around Belle’s shoulders. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Belle sobs, clutching your shirt. “It’s not alright at all. He killed my big sister. He killed her.”

You know what kind of man Trevor is -- of course you do, you dated the bastard for longer than you ever should have. But you don’t think he’s the kind that’s capable of murder. If these are murders.

Your mind reminds you of the class Natalie had the bad grade in. Chemistry. 

Then the class that Kelly and Jennifer had with Natalie. Chemistry.

Fuck.

“I’m gonna get Hotch,” JJ says, leaving you alone with Belle while she cries.

After a few moments, Belle’s sobs slow down, and you swallow your own tears. You help her sit up and brush the hair from her where it’s sticking to her wet cheeks.

“Hey, look at me,” you hold onto her hands, squeezing tightly. “What he did to her was _wrong_ , okay? She didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t right. No one should ever touch you if you don’t want them to. Alright? Your body is _yours_ , baby.” You don’t realize it, but you’re speaking as much to yourself as you are her. “I’m so sorry that happened to your big sister. It wasn’t right.”

Belle nods, nose scrunching as more tears flood down her cheeks. Hotch finally steps into the room, and Belle’s dad is right behind him. 

Upon seeing her dad, Belle practically launches herself into his arms, crying into his neck. You rub gentle circles on her back for a moment before you have to leave, the anger starting to boil over.

Hotch follows you out of the room after JJ says she’ll handle talking to Erik about what’s happened. You don’t hear a word of that, though. You’re fuming. You’re gonna kill him. You’re gonna end up fired and in prison because you’re gonna kill a man.

You’re down the hall and to the back exit, but you don’t go outside. You’re afraid if you do, you won’t come back with clean hands. So you stand still, staring at the door, fists clenched, one second away from punching the door and breaking your fingers--

“Y/N.” When Hotch says your name it makes you jump. You turn around to face him, and he’s never seen such a wild look in your eye.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you mutter, meaning every word. And what scares Hotch is that he knows you mean every word.

“Calm--”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence,” you snap, not caring that he’s your boss and you shouldn’t speak to him like that. Fuck that, anyway. The hierarchy. Men thinking they’re better. Men thinking they can just take whatever they please. It’s bullshit. It’s fucking moronic bullshit.

“I’ve sent Morgan and Prentiss to bring him in,” Hotch says, keeping his voice calm. 

You nod, knowing Morgan will be more than rough on Trevor. “Good.” You hope Morgan punches him. Or worse. “Jennifer and Kelly had Chemistry with Natalie,” you say. “Trevor is the professor for that class.”

Hotch knows what you’re implying. What Trevor did to Natalie, it’s very probable that he did it to Kelly and Jennifer, too.

He nods. “We need to talk to him.”

“Do you think he killed them?” You ask it so quietly that Hotch isn’t sure if he’s heard you correctly. It’s day two of this case. Day two doesn’t normally drop the unsub in their lap like this, so Hotch isn’t sure.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. 

He profiled Trevor when he first walked up to you -- how could he not? It’s how he figured out Trevor is still very much in love with you. He feels out of place in his job, hence why he tries to dress much older than a twenty-something should. He’s a new professor, he wants to be taken seriously despite his young age, which is also evident in how he’s working toward a doctorate. He stuffed his hands in his pockets when he walked away from you, so he obviously feels some sort of remorse for how he walked away the first time, when your relationship ended. That makes sense, considering you told Hotch that Trevor wanted you to stay, thought you’d never make it, and then you accepted that job right in front of him, proving him wrong.

“I would question him,” you pause, chuckling darkly. “But if I don’t have to, I think I need to stay away.”

Hotch is glad you made that decision for yourself, but that doesn’t make his decision any easier. “I’m relieving you of your duties for the rest of this case.”

The words sting worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. You stare at your supervisor in shock, thinking surely, he must be joking. He _must_ be.

But he’s not.

He fills the silence with more useless words. “It was wrong of me to let you on this case in the first place. When they hit too close to home like this, judgement becomes far too clouded--”

“Are you saying I can’t do my job? Just because this happens to be in my hometown?”

“Are you seriously going to stand there and say to me that you can remain unbiased on this case?”

“Yes!”

“You just threatened to kill a suspect, Y/N!” Hotch roars, gesturing wildly, like you might’ve forgotten.

An officer backs down the hallway, away from the two of you, which prompts Hotch to pull you into an empty office. You’re fuming when you shake his hand off of your arm, ready to punch him in the nose. He can’t do this. Can he? You guess he can. He’s your superior. That stupid fucking hierarchy.

Quietly, Hotch shuts the door. “I can’t have you on this case when you’re like this.”

“You know, you’ve been acting weird ever since you met Trevor,” you narrow your eyes. “What gives? Is your judgement clouded?”

“So have you,” Hotch replies firmly, ignoring your accusations toward him. He watches the panic flash in your eyes. “It’s none of my business, I know. But you’re shaking. Is it from anger or anxiety? Or is it both? Is it guilt?”

“Shut up,” you snap. “It’s not your business.”

“It becomes my business when it affects your performance,” Hotch says lowly, eyes studying you, and you know he’s profiling you further. You hate it. You hate how stripped down you feel in a room full of profilers. Maybe that’s why you became one. They might make you feel vulnerable, but you can reduce them the same way. You leveled the field for yourself.

“It was a momentary lapse of...I don’t know, logic. But I’m fine now.” You say the words firmly, holding your head high. He can’t kick you off this case. Not now.

“Your labored breathing and clenched jaw tells me you’re far from fine,” Hotch says. “You’re taking a step back.”

A compromise, and yet, you’re still fuming. “No.”

Hotch raises his eyebrows only slightly, but it’s enough. Enough for you to know you might have just fucked up. _Badly_. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” Jesus, now is not the time for you to start being a stereotypical brat to your boss.

“And _I_ said, you’re taking a step back,” Hotch repeats, taking one step closer to you. “That’s an order.”

The next two words fly from your mouth without restraint. “Make me.”

For a moment, you’re terrified for your life. You don’t say things like that to a boss, let alone to Aaron Hotchner. Those words get you fired. Or worse.

He takes another step toward you, but you’re frozen in place, shell-shocked and heart racing. There shouldn’t be fire thrumming in your veins right now. You should apologize. Maybe even resign. But neither of those things are on your mind, and they’re definitely not on Aaron’s mind either.

There’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there a few moments ago. Briefly, your eyes flick to the blinds. They’re open. He can’t do anything when they’re open. He wouldn’t. He’s too controlled.

The mere thought of someone watching this scene has a whimper damn near escaping your mouth, but it gets caught in your throat.

“Look at me.”

You obey instantly. That’s a tone you don’t ignore, and he’s a man you just don’t ignore. He towers over you now, eyes burning holes into your own. He can see right through you. You’re trembling, but for a different reason.

“You’re taking a step back,” he repeats. “That’s an order. If I have to say it again, there will be consequences. Understood?”

You nod slowly. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

 _Oh, the bastard._ Though, you deserve it, after what you just did. “Yes, sir.”

He takes one more look at you before exiting the room, leaving you standing there with your chest heaving, knees shaking.

Wait.

What the fuck just happened?

+++

You take a few moments to gather your senses before you even attempt to leave the room. And by the time you do, you catch a glimpse of Morgan shoving your ex into the interrogation room. You look away before he can see you.

Hotch told you to take a step back. The right thing to do would be to leave, head back to your mom’s place, cool off, work the case from a distance. But when do you ever do the right thing?

To stall, you grab a coffee. You’re sipping it and staring blankly at the wall, your mind still reeling from your encounter with Hotch. You’re not sure what to do about that...if anything at all. You could be reading too far into all of it. Hell, maybe you just dreamt that.

Nope, your knees are shaking, and you’re uncomfortable in the pent-up-sexual-tension sort of way. You definitely didn’t dream that. Your imagination isn’t _that_ good.

JJ comes out of the interrogation room, looking exhausted and in desperate need of the coffee that she grabs while next to you.

“He’s refusing to talk,” she says, rubbing her forehead.

You say nothing, and she notices, but doesn’t comment on it. Today has given you whiplash, and something tells you it isn’t over yet.

You glance over to the interrogation room, seeing the tired looks coming from Reid, Emily, and Hotch. Morgan must be in with him.

You’re probably going to get your ass fired for this.

You toss the empty cup in the trash, brushing past JJ to walk to the room. _If I’m going to get fired, might as well do it while swinging at the bastard who hurt me._

You enter the room, and all heads turn to you.

“Before you say anything, I’ll hand in my resignation after this if you want,” you direct the words at Hotch, but everyone else is stunned, Emily mouthing _‘resignation?’_ like she’s never heard of it before. “You want him to talk? Let me in there.”

Hotch looks ready to haul your ass out of there and show you what he meant earlier by _consequences_. “Y/N—”

“I know what you’re going to say. Save your breath. Morgan is doing nothing but making Trevor shut down. If you want the truth out of him, you have to let me talk to him.”

“If he’s shutting down, how are you going to get any answers?” Hotch asks, and you know what he’s doing, trying to call your bluff. Well, unfortunately, you’re not bluffing.

“Just trust me.”

Hotch contemplates it for a moment. Then nods, but he doesn’t look happy. You’re going to pay for this, but he can just add it to the list at this point. Might as well.

“Thank you,” you mutter.

Opening the door, you wait for Morgan to look at you, and you don’t need to say anything at all. One glance from your fellow agent to your ex-boyfriend, and the former nods, standing to his feet. 

Morgan stops next to you in the doorway, giving you a stern look. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply, but you’re lying. “I’m fine.”

Morgan doesn’t believe you for one second, but that’s beside the point. He leaves you alone with Trevor. 

Silently, you slide into the chair where Morgan sat a few moments before. You almost don’t need to use interrogation tactics with Trevor. You know him too well. Just you staring at him alone has him beginning to crack. You can see it in the way he’ll barely look at you now, fidgeting with his hands, the metal cuffs clinking against the table. 

“I didn’t hurt those girls,” he says before you even utter a word. 

You let yourself smile, deciding to use some of your training coupled with how you remember he liked being treated, praised. He’s got a dangerous God complex that’s honestly one more ego-stroking experience away from being lethal. “I know. I’m sure you were just helping them out, right?”

He nods. 

“Helping them pass,” you continue. “You’re a new professor. You’re just doing your job.”

He keeps nodding, and you know he thinks you’re on his side. Silly boy.

“Well, Trevor, the fact of the matter is, those three girls are dead.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide. 

“Don’t act surprised. It’s all over the news. They’re gone. And they all had a connection to you.”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“Didn’t you?” You press, leaning forward. “Didn’t you? When you did what you did to them? Didn’t you kill a small piece of them? You might not have even noticed. But didn’t you?” Didn’t you notice when you killed me?

“I didn’t. I swear. You know me. You _know_ I wouldn’t.”

You clench your jaw. “Did you do to them what you did to me?”

Trevor stills. You see his face pale. He must’ve thought you had forgotten. Or that you had moved on. Maybe even that you didn’t blame him for that night anymore.

“Did you keep going after they said they weren’t sure? Did you keep going after they tried to push you off? Did you feel accomplished when they gave in? When they froze up and let you do whatever you wanted? Did you wipe their tears away and tell them it was alright? Did you tell them it was _supposed_ to hurt, that it—”

“Stop! Please!”

“Why?” You snap, but your voice is breaking. Keep it together. “You didn’t.”

Outside the interrogation room, the entire team stands alarmingly still. Hotch understands now why you said what you said earlier. He understands the panic in your eyes. The rage. The guilt. All of it.

He understands, now, your want to kill a man.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor says, voice weak. 

“Sorry for what?”

“For hurting you.”

“I don’t care anymore. I care about these girls. Are you sorry for hurting them?”

It’s quiet, but it’s there. “Yes.”

“Are you sorry for killing them?”

That sends him into more panic. “I didn’t kill them!” 

Back on the other side of the glass, Hotch moves toward the door, ready to haul you out of there. They’ve gotten what they need. It’s obvious to him that Trevor raped those girls, but he didn’t kill them. He can’t bear to hear you talk about this anymore. 

But Morgan stops him. He knows you need one more moment. 

“Where were you when they were murdered?”

“I’m working on my doctorate, I’ve been taking late nights in my office at the college almost every night. I sleep in there, I practically live there. You can check the security footage, but I _swear_ , I’m not lying.”

You stand without another word, positive the team heard that and has already contacted Garcia to check the footage. 

But you’re also positive they heard everything else. 

You’ve never told any of them about it. Hell, no one knew about Trevor until Tracy brought him up in front of Hotch, so Hotch was the lucky first to find out about your ex-boyfriend and...rapist. The word still feels foreign to you. But even Tracy doesn’t know what really happened. Your mom is the only one who knows the true story. 

Well, so does Trevor. But he obviously sees it through a different lens. 

“Is there anyone else?” You ask, already halfway to the door.

Trevor furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Me. Natalie. Jennifer. Kelly. Are there any other girls?” You pause. “Or do you not even remember their names?”

Trevor hangs his head. “Hanna Lane.”

Slamming the door of the interrogation room, you look up to find the entire team staring at you. That’s enough to make you want to explode. 

You did it to yourself. You knew you had to back yourself into a corner, so you could get a confession out of Trevor. You knew if you reminded him of the true reason for your relationship’s demise, he’d come clean. He’s one of those that feels remorse, but won’t ever admit it until he’s caught. He’s got a wounded God complex now.

“I’m taking a break,” you announce. “You’re welcome for the confession.”

You bolt from the room as fast as you can, ignoring Morgan calling out your name.

“Call Garcia and figure out who Hanna Lane is,” Hotch orders, earning a nod from the agents. “And have her check to see if he really was in his office the nights they were killed. Just in case.”

“On it,” Morgan says, already putting his phone to his ear.

“Call me when you figure it out,” Hotch calls over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Reid asks, but Hotch is already out the door, eyes searching for you.


	7. He could make you see how the world could be, in spite of the way that it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens in this one, so buckle up guys!

You’re nowhere to be found when Hotch reaches the front of the police precinct. And when he goes outside, he sees all of their vehicles are here.

_“I remember walking home from the police station at odd hours of the night.”_

Hotch jumps in the closest vehicle, rolling out of the parking lot before the engine has even started good. He flies down the road, slowing when he sees someone walking in the grass, but it isn’t you.

This is your hometown. You could’ve used a shortcut for all he knows. 

He continues driving, back to your mom’s place. If you’re not there, she can tell him where you would’ve gone.

He doesn’t have the time to think about how irresponsible this is of you, running off like this without letting anyone know where you’re heading. Especially when the victimology now fits you perfectly, right down to the last--

Hotch shakes his head. He needs to get out of his head. He needs to see you, see that you’re okay.

He’s jumping out of the car the second he pulls into the driveway, almost forgetting to even shut the engine off. Your mom is standing on the front porch, sad smile on her lips as she watches Aaron jog up to her, breathing deeply.

“Do you know where she is?” He asks, entirely hopeful, and to his relief, your mom nods.

“She’s down at the lake. Helps her think,” she pauses, eyeing him up and down, carefully, the way a protective mother can’t help but do. “So you know.”

Hotch nods slowly.

“It took her months to tell me,” your mom tells him, tears shining in her eyes. “Be gentle with her. Now that you know.”

That makes Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. “My knowing doesn’t change anything.”

The sad smile returns to your mom’s lips, and for a moment, she almost thanks God out loud, for giving you a man like Aaron Hotchner. Too many times you had called her crying, another date gone wrong, another person you trusted enough to reveal your suffering, only to have them leave you, deciding you were too much to deal with, too damaged and too far gone for any salvation. You found salvation in your own words, your own heart, but that doesn’t mean the longing for someone to share the peace with has gone away. If anything, it has grown. But your mother has watched you lead a lonely life, keeping your heart guarded from anyone at all anymore, because when you’re deceived enough, you learn to trust _only_ yourself -- because you are the only one you can count on.

Instead she tells Hotch, “If you go around back you’ll see the steps. She’s sitting on the dock.”

“Thank you,” Aaron murmurs, and then he’s gone, through the fence and around the back of the house.

Hotch finds you sitting on the dock, exactly as your mom said you’d be.

You’ve shed your shoes and rolled your pants legs up, letting your feet hang off the edge. Your toes tap a quiet rhythm on the surface of the water, causing ripples as far out as you can see. You’ve always marveled at how far the tiniest of waves can travel. This is something you used to do nearly every day.

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know Hotch is here. You’d recognize his footsteps anywhere, though you hate that you do.

You notice when he notices the state of you, so you turn away, wiping your running nose on your sleeve with a grimace. Just one more thing to add to the list of why you feel completely and utterly pathetic right now.

“I understand if you’ve come to tell me I’m suspended,” you murmur, nearly grimacing at the crack in your voice. “Or if you want me to just resign, I can just do that, too. That’s probably easier.”

He says nothing. Instead, he kneels and begins untying his shoes. You’re not sure what he’s doing at first until he takes his shoes off and sets them behind you, next to yours. He’s doing exactly what you weren’t expecting.

He’s sitting with you, his bare feet touching the lake water, feeling the same ripples that you have made to comfort your reeling mind.

“You’re not suspended, nor do you need to resign,” he says, leaning back on his hands, looking out at the lake rather than looking at you. “But we will need to have a conversation about you disobeying my orders.”

You nearly snort, but you catch yourself. Hotch doesn’t miss the small smirk on your lips, though. You know he’s serious, and you know it was technically wrong for you to disobey his direct order to take a step back.

But technically... _technically_ you didn’t disobey him. It was more of delayed obedience.

You tell him that, smile and all. “I obeyed. It was delayed, but I did.”

He almost smiles, glad to hear you cracking a joke, albeit about a serious matter. So he says, “Don’t delay next time.”

And your reply is as smooth as ever as you pick at a splinter in the dock. “No promises.”

The silence comforts you both. A boat flies by, creating more waves, but much bigger, less comforting ones. They smack against the shore loudly, so you try to breathe through it, remember how you’ve learned to face your disturbed peace.

Hotch fills the silence after a while. “That was very brave of you, what you did.”

Truth be told, he has no idea how to comfort you through this. One would think that he would know. This isn’t the first case he has worked where he’s dealt with rape or sexual assault victims. Even then, he’s been at a loss for words. He’s never known what is the right thing to say.

And none of them have been you.

But, truthfully, there isn’t a “right” thing to say.

“Please don’t say I’m brave,” you whisper, poking one of the splinters into your leg, through the fabric of your pants. It’s not an action meant to make you bleed, only something to pass the time. To remind you that when you feel this numb, you are still capable of feeling something. 

“I don’t feel brave,” you say after another beat of silence. “I just feel used. Dirty. Guilty. Everything and nothing.”

Hotch wants to say he understands, but he doesn’t. And he knows lying won’t help you. Instead, he does all that he knows that he can: he listens.

“I had to go through it alone-- It took me months to tell my own mother. But Natalie told her sister. I know it wasn’t out of a need to share what happened, that’s not why anyone ever really talks about it.” You shake your head slowly, tossing the splinter into the water. “It was a warning. She wanted to warn her little sister about the horrors of the world. She’s only fourteen, but I’m sure she already knew some things -- unless they kept her unaware. I’m not sure if that would be blissful or not.”

Hotch hangs his head, pushes off of his hands to spread them over his thighs. He’d kill Trevor if you asked him to. He’d hunt down everyone that has ever hurt you if you asked. All you’d have to do is ask.

“I guess I was just as ignorant,” you scoff. “I remember thinking that’s how it was supposed to be. It never crossed my mind that what he did to me, he’d do to others.” You pause. “And now they’re dead.”

“The blood of these girls is not on your hands,” Hotch says firmly, maybe a little too firmly, but you pay no mind. Your mind is already made up.

“Isn’t it?” You ask quietly. “If I had said something, if I had spoken up…” But even at that, you scoff again.

“Do you want to press charges?” Hotch asks.

You could laugh. “About what?” You turn your head to look at him. “It happened years ago now. I’ve grown out of the clothes I wore that night, not that I ever wore them again. Besides, we were dating and everyone knew it.” You avert your eyes back to the water. “They’d just tell me I’m broken. That I was supposed to want it, and that even if I didn’t, as my _fiancé_ , he had a right to take it.”

Hotch turns his head. “Fiancé?”

“I’ve tried to block that part out of my brain,” you chuckle. “I was an idiot to say yes to him. I thought it was what I wanted, but I also thought he was different. Thought he would’ve supported my move to Virginia, but he wanted to be here.”

Hotch tries to imagine it. You, at nineteen, an engagement ring on your finger. He foolishly lets his eyes drift to your hands, wondering what it might be like if you were wearing one again -- only this time, it’d be from him.

He has to shake the thought out of his head. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong everything.

Before that thought can get away from him anymore, his phone begins ringing.

It’s Garcia.

He puts her on speaker. “Hi sir, I thought I should call you directly with this information, but Hanna Lane is… Well, she’s dead.”

You share a look with Hotch. “What do you mean?” You ask. “When?”

If Garcia has a comment about you being alone with Hotch, she doesn’t share it. “She wasn’t from that town, she was from a few towns over,” Garcia explains. “She completed the fall semester last year, but never registered for the spring, and on January 1st, she…”

“Spit it out.”

“She killed herself, guys. Slit wrists and she was found in the garage next to a half empty jug of antifreeze.”

“Holy shit,” you say before you can stop the words, and next thing you know, you’re turning and heaving over the edge of the dock.

Hotch holds his arm out to steady you, keep you from falling over. You don’t vomit, only gag. It’s been a while since you’ve actually puked, but you’ve come close more than you’d like to admit.

“Apparently the family covered this up majorly,” Garcia continues once you’re okay. “It wasn’t mentioned as suicide anywhere. I had to find the original coroner’s report to find it.”

“Right,” Hotch sighs, closing his eyes. “So we’ve got four women who all died the same way, only the last three were within two days.”

“If Hanna’s wasn’t reported as a suicide, then how would these other girls know to do the same method?” You ask. “That’s too much to just be a coincidence.”

“No, I know,” he says. “Garcia, did Hanna have any siblings? How are her parents?”

“Already ahead of you, boss,” Garcia quips. “Parents are a cookie-cutter situation, met in high school, married after college, started having kids within a year. Hanna was a twin— His name is Ethan. He was in the hospital — the psych ward, by the looks of it — for a few weeks before being released...two weeks ago.”

You look at Hotch with raised eyebrows. “Distraught brother grieving the loss of his twin gets sent to the mental hospital, makes sense. But how would he find out about these three girls?”

“We need to speak to the families again,” Hotch says, already beginning to stand. “Can we get an address for Ethan Lane just in case?”

“Sending it to you now.”

“Thank you,” Hotch says, ending the call.

You’re stumbling into your shoes, reaching out to hold onto Hotch’s arm for a brief second to steady yourself. 

Neither of you mention it.

As quickly as you can, you’re jumping up the steps back to the driveway and to the car. You get to it first, so you hop in the driver’s seat, and Hotch doesn’t fight you on it. He tosses you the keys.

While you’re starting the engine, Hotch is dialing on his phone. “Morgan. Hanna Lane is dead. We’re looking for a connection. Y/N and I are on the way to speak to Natalie’s family again. Split up and speak to the others, ask them about Hanna Lane. Anything, if they knew her, how close they were.”

“Got it,” is Morgan’s reply before he hangs up.

The adrenaline rush is all that keeps your brain from spiraling as you speed to Natalie’s home. 

You’re out of the car and knocking on the door before you know it. Natalie’s dad answers the door again.

Hotch takes the reins, not wanting to waste any time. “Nice to see you again, sir, may we come in?”

Erik nods and holds the door open. “Of course, come on in.”

You follow him to the living room, but none of you sit. Belle is there, watching a movie on the TV this time, but she pauses it when she sees you.

“What’s going on?” She asks, sitting up.

“Did your daughter know Hanna Lane?” Hotch asks Erik, but Erik isn’t the one to answer.

“Yeah,” Belle says, but looks sheepish for interrupting. When you nod for her to continue, she does. “Hanna was one of Nat’s study partners last semester, remember?” She looks to her dad. “For Statistics. Hanna was an English major, so she didn’t really get math all that much. Nat helped her. They were here all the time.”

“I do remember her…” Erik nods slowly. “I think Natalie said she had to move back home after classes ended in the fall. We never knew why.”

You share a look with Hotch before breaking the news. “There’s no easy way to put this, but...Hanna is dead.” You hear Belle gasp and the noise breaks your heart. You wish momentarily that she wasn’t here, but you know sheltering her will do no good, either. “She killed herself, sir.”

Erik looks...numb, which is understandable. “Are they...connected?” He asks, looking between you and your supervisor. “Was it the same night?”

Hotch’s eyebrows furrow. “It was January 1st of this year.”

Now confusion clouds Erik’s features. “That...Well, that just doesn’t make any sense. Natalie told us just a couple weeks ago that Hanna had reached out to her and they reconnected. She said she was going to invite her over to hang out, but never did, I guess.”

“Two weeks ago, you said?” Hotch asks.

“Yes,” Erik nods, sounding like he thinks you suspect he’s lying. “I can show you her phone, the messages are all there.”

“That would actually be a great help,” you say. “If you don’t mind.”

Silently, Erik walks over to a drawer on the TV stand and pulls out Natalie’s phone. He hands it over to you and you open it up, going to the messages.

Sure enough, Hanna Lane’s contact is there. And the last message is...a day before Natalie died.

You skim through the messages, going back to when they started two weeks ago, and your eyes widen on a few paragraphs.

“Natalie told whoever this is about what happened,” you say, nudging Hotch with your arm so he’ll look. “All of it.”

Hotch looks to Erik and says, “Thank you,” before heading for the front door.

You hand the phone back to Erik, positive you’ve seen all you need. You’re halfway out the front door when your phone begins ringing. It’s JJ.

“Yeah?”

“The parents had no idea Hanna was dead,” JJ says.

“Same here,” you sigh, sliding in the passenger seat of the car. Hotch is on the phone, too, and from the sounds of it, Morgan and Emily found the same. “Did she reach out?”

“Two weeks ago,” JJ finishes. “And the text messages...Kelly told Hanna what happened. In detail.”

You give Hotch a look and nod. He does the same. 

“We’re heading to the Lane’s house,” you say. “I’ll text you the address so you guys can meet us there.” Hotch says the same to Morgan as he pulls out onto the road, flicking the lights on.

You hang up with JJ as Hotch hangs up with Morgan, then presses his foot down harder on the gas.

“Don’t get on the interstate,” you tell him. “It’s a lot faster to take back roads. Trust me.”

He does. He listens to your directions and you make it to the Lane household a full two minutes before the rest of the team.

You don’t wait for the team to arrive, though. They pull up as you and Hotch are knocking on the door, asking to speak with Ethan.

His mom looks confused. “What’s this about?”

“We just want to talk to him, ma’am,” you say, holding out your hands as a peace gesture, keeping them off of your gun and your badge.

“About what?” She presses further, refusing to open the door anymore. 

It’s barely a glimpse because the mother has pulled the door so far in, but your eyes catch a figure going up the staircase. Ethan. 

“Ma’am, please--”

“We have reason to believe he might be involved with a series of murders,” Hotch says, foregoing all pleasantries. “Your son is sick. We need to speak with him.”

“My son is not _sick_ ,” she all but hisses. “That stupid hospital kept him against his will. They only let him go because I threatened to sue their asses.”

Great, you think. So she took her mentally ill son out of the hospital and away from the help that he needed. Good job.

“We will get a warrant if we need to,” Hotch says, but you’re not sure about what grounds you could get it on. “But we just want to speak with him.”

“No,” she replies firmly. “Good day.”

The door slams shut.

“Now what?” You ask, stomping down the concrete path to where the rest of the team is standing. They give you an expectant look, so you say, “She threatened to sue the hospital, so they let her son go. She won’t let us in.”

“I’ve already made a call for a warrant,” Emily says, looking at Hotch. She must’ve thought of something, then. But a sick feeling in your stomach tells you there might not be enough time.

Hotch nods at her in thanks, but says what you’re thinking. “I don’t know if we have the time.”

“Woah, the time?” Morgan stands up straighter. “What are you talking about?”

As if on cue, a gunshot sounds from inside the house. Just one, but it’s enough. Your ears ring louder than they ever have before. You’re used to gunfire. You hear it on a regular basis. But not like this. Not with what you know. 

Hotch yells out your name as you sprint for the house, not bothering to slip into a vest. It’s foolish, but you know you won’t need one. The thought makes you sick, bile threatening to rise, but you choke it down.

You bang your fists on the door and the dad opens it this time, his face ashen pale as he lets you in. Hotch is on your heels, but you don’t notice.

You follow the mother’s screams, find her upstairs in Ethan’s bedroom, huddled over his limp body. Blood splatters the wall and the bed.

Your footsteps skid to a stop in the doorway. Hotch catches you as you fall to your knees, the image forever burned in your head.

Sirens wail in the distance. Paramedics already on their way. But they won’t find anyone that they can help.

Just a mother crying over her dead son. And a father who won’t believe what’s just happened until he’s burying his son next to his daughter.

And you, held up by your supervisor, being walked back out into the hallway, so the parents can be with their son for a few more moments. 

Hotch guides you out of the house and leans you against the car he drove here. He holds onto your shoulders, but you’re not there, not really.

It’s not until an EMT is waving a hand in front of your eyes, asking if you know where you are, that you come back down.

“She’s just in shock,” the paramedic says after you can answer a few basic questions, and you think, _no shit_.

You don’t move as a shock blanket is pulled around your shoulders by Hotch, but you grip the edges and pull them closer. 

Hotch offers to drive you back to your mom’s house. Tells you the team can handle packing things up. That he wants you to rest.

For once, you don’t argue with him.


	8. I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly fluff! And pretty tame, aside from mentions of a suicide note

Your mom knows something is wrong the second you arrive. The look on your face is enough, but the sight of Aaron guiding you into the house, his hand on the middle of your back, tops it all off. 

You’ve worked bad cases before. Hell, some have been worse than this, but they’ve never affected you this badly. None of them have ever been in your hometown. None of them have ever ended like this.

You could’ve saved that boy. But -- and it’s a morbid thought -- maybe he’s better off now. He can rest now.

That’s all you can ask for those who are hurting. That they can finally rest.

“I’m gonna go take a bath,” you say to no one in particular, though your mom nods silently in acknowledgement. You don’t have the energy to muster up a smile for her, but you let her squeeze your hand before you walk down the hallway, and that’s enough.

Hotch wants to follow you. God, he’d give anything right now to sit with you. Just sit with you. You don’t need to talk about anything. He just doesn’t want to leave you alone. 

Your mom can tell this just from the look on his face. So she says, “She’ll be alright. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” Hotch replies. He doesn’t need your mother to tell him you’re strong. You show him that every day. “We’re going to pack things up at the station and then we’ll be back to get out of your hair.”

Your mom waves her hand, would probably smack him on the arm if she knew him better. “Take your time. I’m not charging.”

Hotch smiles gently. “Thank you again for letting us stay.”

“I enjoyed it,” she admits. “I missed having a house full of her friends. Takes me back to the old days.”

Hotch can’t imagine it. You always describe high school as a cold and dark abyss. And you never really speak of your time at the college very highly, though now he understands why. A lot of your good memories are clouded — understandably so. 

Before he can get too carried away — because he knows your mom will keep going if he lets her — Hotch heads out to the police station to help the rest of the team pack up. 

+++

You’re in your room by the time the team returns from packing things up at the station. The jet is ready, all that’s left is to grab their things. 

A soft knock coaxes you from your bed. You feel nineteen again. When you started hiding in your room after what happened. Your mom would always coax you out with a soft knock. 

But this knock didn’t come from your mom. It came from Hotch. 

The surprise is evident on your face when you see him standing there, but he’s just happy to see you’re present again.

You’ve put on your comfiest clothes (which weren’t hard to find because you basically left only comfy clothes here) and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so soft. If he’s not careful he’ll gather you into his arms and never let you leave. 

But it’s wrong. It’s _wrong_.

Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll stop falling for you. 

“Hey,” you say, softly, wrapping your arms around your middle. “I was just gonna come say bye to the team.”

“You staying here for a few days?” He asks. 

“Yeah…” You breathe. “It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with my mom. I think now’s a good time.” You pause, suddenly remembering yourself. “Shit. I didn’t even ask if I could—” 

“Take as many days as you need,” Hotch says. “They’re approved.”

You almost pout. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m the boss. Days approved.” He waves a hand around, cracking a smile. “There. Just did it.”

You’ve never seen him act so silly. A laugh is bubbling out of your chest before you can stop it, but you try your best to cover your mouth with your hand. Hotch wants to reach over and tug your hand away. He wants to hear you laugh, to know you’re okay. 

“Don’t worry about your report,” he says, knowing that question would be coming next. “It can wait until you’re back. And if you try to work on it before you’re back, there will be consequences.”

It shouldn’t make you giggle again, but it does. You nod firmly, trying to remain serious, but you can’t. “Yes, sir.”

Hotch can’t take it anymore, and neither can you, so when he steps forward, arms opening for a hug, you gladly accept. 

Your arms fit perfectly around his middle, fingers barely touching on his back. You turn your head, tucking yourself into his chest as his arms circle you, holding you close. He sighs deeply when he finally has you in his arms, and you close your eyes, listening to his heart. 

You want to ask him to stay. So badly, you want him to stay. But it would cross too many lines. 

As if you haven’t already crossed them.

If the team saw the hug you shared, none of them mention it.

When you venture out into the living room, you’re wrapped in multiple hugs. You wave to Spencer, sensing he’s not really up for it, but to your surprise, he pulls you into his arms. It’s brief, but it’s much appreciated.

“Text me when you land,” you say, pointing to every member of the team, even Hotch.

“As long as _you_ ,” Derek pauses, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “promise to get some rest.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” your mom chimes, giving him a wink. Dear lord. You told him she’d eat him up.

“Call me if you need to talk, okay?” Morgan murmurs, looking into your eyes, waiting for you to answer.

“Thank you,” you smile, squeezing him in another hug.

One by one, the team files out of the house, bags in hand. It’s a strange sight, watching them leave, especially when the last thing you absolutely expected to happen from this case was that the team would quarter in your childhood home.

Hotch is the last to leave, turning to thank your mom once again for her kindness. She waves him away for what has to be the millionth time.

“You’re always welcome, dear,” your mom says, pressing a kiss to her fingers and then patting Hotch’s cheek.

Your eyes go wide from the sheer embarrassment, and you try your hardest to stifle a laugh when his cheeks go red. Who knew Hotch was capable of blushing?

Your mom leaves you two, saying something about laundry in the dryer, and you almost say, _“Smooth, mom, real smooth,”_ as she walks away. Doesn’t take a profiler to know what she just did.

“Don’t come back until you’re ready,” Hotch says sternly, giving you a gentle but serious look to let you know he means business.

“Trying to get rid of me, are you?” You laugh, surprised when he also smiles.

“No,” he says. Then adds, gently, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” you whisper. “Thank you for earlier. Just sitting with me.” You pause, taking a deep breath. “I really thought I was getting fired.”

“I’m not going to fire you for being human,” Hotch says softly. “I will fire you if you disobey me again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

That earns you another stern look.

And again, it makes you smile. “You should go,” you nod toward the team. “They’re watching us.”

“They’re always going to be watching.”

“Aren’t you worried about what they’ll think?” You ask, trying not to move your lips as much as normal to hopefully throw Reid off. He has a bad habit of lip reading when you don’t want him to.

“What will they think?” Hotch asks, looking genuinely confused.

 _Right_ , you think to yourself. _There’s nothing there._ “Never mind. Have a safe flight.”

Hotch frowns, but nods anyway. “I’ll let you know when we land.”

“Thanks,” you smile, already closing the door on him.

He turns and walks down the front porch stairs, which gives you a chance to cast one more longing glance his way. This will be the last one. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You look up and wave to the team, flashing a smile to hopefully erase that look from their memories, though you know it’s a matter of time before they begin harassing you about it.

+++

Ethan Lane wrote in his suicide note both an apology to Jennifer, Natalie, and Kelly’s families and an apology to his sister and twin, Hanna.

He wrote that when Hanna died, he felt a piece of himself go with her. He knew what had happened to her, and he remembers wishing he could have protected her -- which manifested into what he did to the other three girls. 

“ _Hanna is safe now_ ,” Ethan wrote. “ _Jennifer, Natalie, and Kelly are safe now, too. It’s my turn._ ”

And that was how it ended.

You have no idea what it must feel like to be a twin, let alone to lose your twin, but Ethan’s words gave you a good enough idea.

Trevor has resigned his position at the college and is planning to move somewhere else. You have no idea where, and you don’t care, either. Word got out about what he did to you and the other women, and well, let’s just say the town has been less than friendly to him since.

Tracy stopped by with your new degree, the one with the _correct_ name, and you hugged her through the tears. She said she heard about Trevor, and when she asked the question you had been dreading, you told her the truth.

Tears flowed right through dinner as you explained everything to her, and while she said she wishes you would’ve told her, but she understands why you didn’t.

After dinner, you, Tracy, and your mom are all sitting in the living room, glasses of wine in hand. Nights like these almost make you wish you could stay here.

But you know you’d miss the team too much. You’d miss Hotch too much.

That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’d miss Hotch. The one person you shouldn’t miss, who you have no right to miss, is the one you do.

And of course, after a glass of wine, you’re ready to talk.

“He was still married when I transferred,” you tell them. “I didn’t even know he was in the middle of a divorce until I asked Garcia -- that’s our tech girl -- what was wrong with him.”

“But he’s divorced now?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s all official now, he gets to see Jack whenever he can.” You pause, your eyes widening. “God, I’m so glad I didn’t marry Trevor. Divorce looked like it took a lot out of Hotch. I don’t know that I could go through that.”

“You always think you won’t be able to, and then you do,” your mom chimes. “Sometimes it’s freeing.”

“Well, yeah. Dad was an asshole.”

You all laugh. Leave it to you to say something like that.

“But he just gives too many mixed signals,” you keep going, unable to stop. You blame the wine, but really you’ve wanted to get this off your chest since you first saw your mom. “One second he’s so distant and the next he’s asking if I’m okay. Then he’s angry and storming off, but then he comes back and we laugh together.”

Your mom shares a look with Tracy.

“What?” You ask. “What was that?”

“For FBI profilers, you two sure are dumb as hell,” Tracy chuckles, sipping her wine. 

“What?”

“Sounds to me like he’s fighting the same internal battle that you are,” Tracy replies, sounding so sure of herself. “You’re too young, he has a kid, he has an ex-wife… Sound familiar?”

You give her a look. “He checks on everyone on the team. It’s kind of his job to make sure his team is functioning.”

“Mm, I’m sure he drives them home and sits with them by lakes, too…” Your mom trails away, smiling into her wine.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you laugh, setting your wine down. “New topic.”

“If you say so…” Tracy says, and then launches into a new idea of hers. “I’m thinking of starting a seminar for the town at the college. About mental health, sexual assault, all of it.” She pauses. “Would you be interested in--”

But before she can finish, you’re already halfway through your answer. “Yes. Of course. I’d love to. Whatever it is.”

“I’ll call you with details,” Tracy smiles. “But I’m glad you’re willing to help.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to suffer alone,” you murmur. “We’ve lost enough.”

Your mom reaches over and grabs your hand, squeezing tightly.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. Another text from Hotch.

It started when they got on the plane. He texted you when they boarded, and again halfway through, but you didn’t see that one because you were talking with Tracy.

He texted you when the plane landed (so did the rest of the team, including one from Morgan reiterating that you can call him anytime), but he hasn’t stopped texting you since. He told you to thank your mom again (you didn’t because that was before Hotch had been brought up in conversation and you didn’t want to admit to her that he was texting you), then that he put your report on your desk for you when you return. You told him thank you and he said it was no problem, and added another message telling you to take care of yourself.

Who knows what this one is. You don’t check.

You don’t know what to make of him. One minute he’s mad at you, the next he’s asking if you’re okay, then he’s mad again, then he goes soft, then he’s stern (albeit softly), and now he’s gentle again.

It makes you want to grab him by the shoulders and just fucking kiss him.

You think most of your mental battles would be solved if you kissed him -- just once. You know you’ll feel something, that’s almost a given. But if he feels nothing, then that stops your fantasies. If he feels nothing, you can move on, go pick up some other guy, one too dumb to know what he wants because it’s not like you’re looking for anything serious right now.

You aren’t, are you?

You pump the brakes on that train of thought before it can go any further.


	9. He's thinking of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is being lil shits and Papa Rossi has joined the party :D

_Four days later_

You catch a commercial flight back to Quantico, Virginia, and by two in the afternoon, you’re back at the BAU.

“Here she comes,” Morgan’s sweet voice floats through your ears as you walk through the doors to the bullpen. “Feeling better, kiddo?”

“Quit calling me that,” you laugh, accepting Morgan’s hug. Then JJ’s, Garcia’s, Emily’s, and even Reid’s. Once you’re done, you spin back around, finding Morgan giving you a good stare down. “What?”

“I asked how you’re _feeling_ ,” He repeats, eyebrows raised, entirely serious. Classic big brother Morgan.

“I’m better,” you answer him, flashing a smile. “Happy now?”

“Long as you are,” he grins, patting your shoulder. “Boss man missed you.”

All of the blood rushes right to your feet, locking you on the spot. “What?”

“He’s been in another mood since we left,” Emily chimes with a grimace. “He kept looking at his phone on the plane, though. Any idea what that was about?”

You shake your head probably a little too quickly, especially for you to be trapped in a circle of profilers. But you know exactly what that is about. Or...you might. If it was Hotch looking for a reply from you that never came. But maybe it was something else. Pictures of Jack?

“Well, anyway,” Emily sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Someone new came while you were gone.”

“Someone new?” You ask, at the same time Reid says, “ _Someone_? You just called _David Rossi_ a someone?”

“Cool it, youngster,” Morgan says, shaking his head.

“Okay, who the hell is David Rossi?” You ask.

A voice from behind you says, “That would be me.”

You spin around, coming face to face with a man who you guess is this famous David Rossi. And he’s standing right next to Hotch. 

_Jesus. New tie._

“David Rossi, this is Agent Y/N L/N,” Hotch introduces you both. Then says to you, almost as a side note, “You didn’t tell me you were coming back today.”

“If I did, you would’ve told me not to,” you mutter, turning your focus back on Rossi. “Nice to meet you, sir. I would say it’s an honor, but I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of being familiar with your work.”

Rossi shakes your hand. “It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you.” He pauses. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-three,” you smile. “I graduated college at nineteen, if that helps.”

“Ah,” Rossi nods in understanding.

“Trying to replace me already, huh?” You change the subject, raising your eyebrows at Hotch. “I’m gone four days,” you click your tongue, shaking your head. “I see how it is.”

Rossi glances between you and Hotch, settling his gaze on your boss. “I like her.”

Hotch gives him a tired look, eyes moving to glance at you and he catches your grin. “We all do,” Hotch says, but you nearly shiver from the look he’s giving you. “I need to see you in my office before the end of today.”

“Yes sir,” you nod, ignoring your clammy hands and stares from the rest of the team. “Is my report on my desk?”

“Should be,” he says, nodding toward your little cubicle.

“I’ll go get started, then,” you murmur, moving to break out of the circle of profilers before anyone starts asking questions. 

+++

After Hotch tells the team to get back to work, he heads to his office, entirely aware of David following closely behind. So, for that reason, Hotch doesn’t try to catch your eyes, even though he wants to. 

David waits until they’re both inside Hotch’s office. “So, how long has that been going on?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows in surprise, playing dumb. “How long has what been going on?”

But he knows exactly what Rossi is referring to. Hotch should’ve known better than to think Rossi wouldn’t notice. He’s one of the best profilers the BAU ever saw, and they’re lucky to have him back. Even if it means bearing some moments like this.

“You and Y/N,” Rossi replies, looking at Hotch knowingly. “You should know better than to lie to me.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says quickly, walking around his desk to begin idly sifting through papers.

“Hotch,” Rossi presses, closing the door for some privacy. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but-- You’re not wearing your wedding ring and you haven’t called Haley once since I’ve been here, when, if I remember correctly, you used to call her every hour. I see how you look at Y/N--” Rossi nods his head discreetly toward the bullpen, but doesn’t get to finish.

“Leave it alone, Dave.”

“I know you better than you think,” Rossi says. “It’s been three years, not three hundred. You’re either deep in denial about this girl, or I just confirmed something for you that you’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Hotch sighs, fists pressed to his desk. “Nothing is going on. That is the truth,” he pauses, regretfully meets Rossi’s eyes, letting the older read the expression for himself.

And Rossi does, his features softening with sadness. “Aaron…”

“The divorce was finalized months ago,” Hotch says. “So--”

“Y/N wouldn’t be a homewrecker.”

Hotch’s eyes widen. “That’s _not_ what I was implying.”

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of why you’re hiding your feelings,” Rossi says, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s not like you, Aaron.”

“She’s too young.”

“Did she tell you that?” Rossi asks softly. “She looks fully capable of making a decision like that for herself. Though, I don’t think she thinks she is. You’re not doing a good job of hiding things, by the way.”

“Nothing has happened.”

“I didn’t say anything did happen.”

Hotch nearly cusses out loud. Rossi backed him into a corner again and he didn’t even realize it. Rossi always was good at that. “You can’t say a word of this to the rest of the team.”

“I won’t have to,” Rossi replies easily. “I think a few of them might already be as suspicious as I am,” he says, but he really means be careful if you’re trying to keep this quiet.

The bad thing is, Rossi isn’t wrong at all.

You’re barely given five minutes of time to open the file again to start your report when the team starts hovering around your desk.

After a few moments of listening to them whisper, you slowly turn around in your chair. “Can I help you guys?”

“Did something happen with you and Hotch?” Reid blurts, clearly unable to help himself. Though, at least with him, he’s asking out of genuine curiosity. He probably has no idea what the rest of the team is clearly insinuating by their wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“No?” You reply. “Why? What’s going on?”

Emily shrugs. “He’s just been acting weird.”

“He’s Hotch,” you return her shrug. “Isn’t he always weird?”

“No, like...weird.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not following.”

“Didn’t he go find you after you ran out the other day?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” you admit. There’s nothing to hide there. “I had went back to my mom’s place. He came to check on me and that’s when Garcia called about Hanna.” You pause. “You guys are making me feel weird now. What is it?”

“Nothing…” Emily trails away, glancing between them.

It’s Morgan -- _damn_ Morgan -- who spits it out. “Did you and Hotch get it on?”

“Get it-- _Morgan!_ ” You hiss, nearly standing up from the absurdity. Even Reid looks shocked, knowing exactly what get it on means in Morgan language. “No! He’s like fourteen years older than me!”

“Alright, alright,” Morgan laughs, hands held high. “You’re not into older men, noted.”

You didn’t _think_ you were into older men. That was before you met Hotch. But that’s not something you’re about to confess -- especially not to Derek Morgan.

“Okay, hot stuff,” Garcia links her arm with Morgan’s. “You’re coming with me. Leave the poor girl alone.”

Thankfully, Morgan goes with Garcia willingly, no doubt whispering something dirty in her ear. Reid, looking rather mortified, shuffles back to his desk and opens a book.

But Emily and JJ linger.

They pull up chairs, sitting with you, both of their eyes boring holes into your skull.

“What?” You ask, your hands sweating again. You almost move to smooth them over your pants, but that would be too obvious.

“Don’t feel bad if you do think of him that way,” JJ whispers. “We all have.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. _“What?”_

Emily nods. “Come on, it’s hard _not_ to.”

“Guys, I don’t--”

“When he walks around like that,” Emily murmurs. “Makes you question things.”

“Um--”

“So it’s--”

“Listen, guys,” you finally get them both to stop. “I...don’t wanna talk about it right now. Okay?”

Something in your eyes gets them to understand, because they nod, leaving the topic alone for now. They push the chairs back to where they belong, sharing a smile.

“Wait,” you stop them. “Were you being serious? Or just trying to get a confession out of me?”

“Oh, we’re serious,” Emily laughs. “I wouldn’t have sex with him, but I see it.”

“Me too,” JJ agrees. “He’s not my type, but I get it.”

You narrow your eyes, but accept their answers anyway as they go back to their desks.

The problem is, you didn’t think Hotch was your type either. So, it did start only as looking. But it...evolved. How could it not? You feel less alone, knowing you’re not the only one to look at him that way, but you’re still...different. They both said they wouldn’t go for him, but they understand.

But you would go for him. God, all he would have to do is say the word. You came close in the basement of your mom’s house, and again in the kitchen. Too close.

+++

The day drags on despite being short due to your late arrival. One by one, the team begins to leave. Emily and JJ attempt to drag you out for drinks with Morgan and Garcia, but you decide against it. It almost looks like Reid is going to try to keep you company, but Morgan hauls him up and out the door before he can protest.

You shake your head as you watch them go. _Poor kid._

Rossi left a bit ago, something about having a date with someone. Which meant you were alone with Hotch.

The thought sends another shiver down your spine, so you have to correct yourself. You’re not alone with Hotch. You two can’t possibly be the last people in this entire building.

Not to mention, you’re in the bullpen, and he’s up in his office. You’re separated.

With that last thought in mind, you try to keep your head down and finish this report.

You’re almost done, and probably would’ve finished quicker if it weren’t for the rest of the team distracting you earlier. Reid had started doing one of his magic tricks, and since it was a new one, you had to see it. Morgan came back sans Garcia and tried teasing you some more, but gave it up when Emily started in on him.

But now it’s getting closer and closer to nine p.m., and your report still isn’t done.

This one has just been too hard to do. In retrospect, when Hotch asked if you needed to sit it out, you should’ve said yes. But then…

Oh, whatever. It’s not like you can go back in time and change all of that.

“You can finish it tomorrow, you know.”

You jump clear in the air, knocking your knee on the desk, causing you to cuss aloud, all before turning to see who said that. Hotch. Of course.

“You’ve gotta stop scaring me,” you chuckle, despite the pain radiating from your knee.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuine. “Do you need ice?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve had worse,” you say, quickly speeding past it when your mind goes directly to the gutter. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was coming to ask you the same.”

“Well, I’m finishing my report and not scaring the shit out of people,” you joke, letting go of your knee now that some of the pain has died down. “What’s your excuse?”

He doesn’t answer your question. “Come on. Let’s go out.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “The team left hours ago, though.” They’re probably winding their night down by now, or would be too drunk for you to deal with.

“I meant…” He pauses, knowing he’s walking a thin line. “Just you and me.”

Your breath hitches. A red alarm blares in your head, warning you of what could happen. Reminding you of all the reasons you shouldn’t agree. 

You ignore it.

“Okay,” you can’t help but smile as you reach over to grab your purse. You stand to your feet, glad the pain in your knee is now nonexistent, though you’re sure you’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. “Let’s go.”


	10. When she fell, she fell in spite of herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New case!

Dinner with Hotch that night was the start of a new routine.

You accepted it. You had no other choice. How could you ever say no to him? 

So, every night, as the team leaves -- whether it be as a group heading to a bar, or alone to do their own things -- you linger behind, making up excuses. Reid stays sometimes, too, but always leaves before you. He hasn’t said anything yet about how it’s unlike you to stay longer than him.

Each night, Hotch finishes up, and comes down to your desk, coaxing you away from your work. Or other times, it’s getting too late, so you pack your things and head up to his office, knocking softly to pull him away.

You keep each other sane. 

It’s entirely -- well, you can’t say _professional_ , because you doubt there’s anything professional about getting a nightly dinner with your supervisor. Not to mention, not telling a single person about it.

You thought once about telling JJ or Emily, maybe even Garcia, because something about telling other girls seems like it could be comforting, but you decide against it every time. The only reason your mom ended up finding out is because she called you while you were out at dinner with Hotch. She heard you tell him to be quiet -- he was being particularly annoying that night -- and she immediately knew.

You know you should feel bad keeping this from the rest of the team, but you don’t, not really. It’s nice to have something kept between the two of you, even if all it is is dinner.

That’s what you both tell yourselves, anyway.

When he offers to drive one time, it’s just dinner.

When he pays once and never lets you touch the check another night, it’s just dinner.

When he drives you back to the BAU to get your car and the two of you sit in the parking garage idly talking, it’s just dinner.

When he follows you to your apartment because you mentioned being more anxious than usual, it’s just dinner.

When he goes into your apartment first to make sure it’s all clear, it’s just dinner.

When he stays because he got distracted by the pictures on your walls, it’s just dinner.

When you put on a vinyl of 38 Special and pour some wine, asking him to stay a little longer, it’s just dinner.

When he falls asleep on your couch and you cover him with a blanket, daring to brush the hair away from his forehead, it’s just dinner.

That’s all this is.

Of course, now you’re wondering if the team will take “just dinner” as an explanation.

You wake to Hotch shaking your shoulder, his hair disheveled and clothes wrinkled from sleep, and your phone ringing. It’s JJ. _Shit._

“Hey JJ,” you say, giving Hotch a small smile when he sits next to you on your bed.

“Hey, we’ve got a new case, I’m just rounding everybody up,” she says. “Sorry it’s so early.”

You look at the clock and grimace. 5a.m. No wonder you feel like shit. “It’s good, not your fault. Uh, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You hear the hesitation in her voice. “We?”

Your eyes widen. Rookie mistake. You’re an idiot. “Uh, yeah, we-- The team. You know, the Royal We. Anyway-- See you in a bit.” You hang up the phone before you can make an even bigger fool of yourself. 

And then you hear it-- Hotch’s laughter.

“Oh, shut up,” you hiss, grabbing a pillow and smacking him in the face with it. The look on his face is priceless then as he grabs the pillow from you, raising his eyebrows, daring you to do that again. Another one of his looks that sends shivers down your spine.

It feels too domestic again, like it did when you were standing with him in the kitchen at your mom’s place. Only this is more personal. This time he’s in your room, sitting on your bed. If it weren’t for a new case, you’d think things were taking a different route.

“Uh, we should get dressed,” you say, remembering yourself. You stand and start walking toward your closet, but then you have a thought that stops you in your tracks. “Do you have other clothes?”

Apparently, Hotch hadn’t thought of this either because he freezes. “Shit.” His ready bag is still in his office. He has nothing to change into. 

“Shit is right!” You almost yell. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t have time to go back to my place, so I’ll just wear what I’m wearing now.”

He says it like you don’t work in an office full of FBI profilers. 

“Alright,” you shake your head. “But you’re taking all the heat from Morgan.”

Ten minutes later you’re changed and ready to go, walking out of your room to find Hotch standing in the living room, pacing. He’s back in his jacket and tie now, shoes as well, but it’s a little obvious that it’s the same suit and tie that he wore yesterday.

Maybe they won’t notice.

You drive separately, but arrive at the same time. You contemplate only for a moment about waiting a minute or two before walking in after him, but then you remember that it’s five thirty in the morning, and this is an urgent case.

_Fuck it._

You and Hotch stand on opposite ends of the elevator, not looking at one another. The difference in interaction hurts you only a little. You know it can’t go anywhere, and it truly was foolish of you to invite him in for wine last night. He’s checked your apartment for you a few times before, so why did you have to invite him in last night?

 _Last night_ , of all nights. Why did this morning have to be the one with an urgent case?

The elevator doors open, and to your complete and utter horror, the entire team is standing there when you both step off.

JJ gives you a knowing look, but everyone else looks quite literally shocked to their core. She must not have told them about your stammering on the phone -- and for that, you’re grateful.

But, your outfit throws the rest of the profilers off.

Unlike Hotch, you’re in a completely different outfit from yesterday, and you took the time to make your face and hair look more presentable than usual (as best you could in a one-minute window, you suppose). You look like you got a reasonable amount of sleep in your own bed. Like you went home alone.

But Hotch is...in yesterday’s clothes, and due to that, the tiredness on his face is almost more prominent. Like he was out all night, in someone else’s bed (or on your couch).

“Late night?” Rossi speaks up, looking directly at Hotch.

“Yeah, Hotch,” you look over at him. “Late night?”

Oh, _that_ did it. You really need to watch your mouth sometimes.

“Don’t we have a case?” He asks, his eyes on you, but his words directed at the rest of the team.

“Yes sir,” JJ says. “Conference room is ready for you guys.” She leads the way. Reid, Emily, and Morgan fall into line, but Rossi stays behind.

He’s looking a little too hardly at Hotch, so you mutter a small, “Excuse me,” and brush past him, following the rest of your team.

Stepping through the glass doors feels like stepping into a safe haven. You’re able to take a deep breath, calm yourself.

Garcia is already in the conference room, making grabby hands for Derek when he walks in, so he gladly goes to her. Reid looks like JJ caught him still awake and reading, as he’s nearly falling asleep in his chair. He probably didn’t realize how late it was until JJ was calling.

Emily and JJ, on the other hand, look wide awake, and are both looking right at you. You shake your head, though, warning them not to say a word. And they don’t, because they’re sweet like that, but you’re sure this isn’t the last you’ll hear of it.

A few moments later, Hotch is entering the conference room looking a lot more pissed off than you left him. Rossi’s face gives you nothing, though he does smile at you.

_What the hell does that even mean?_

You don’t have time to bother with figuring it out because JJ begins debriefing the case. 

It’s pretty standard, but it’s... _bad_. 

“These two men were killed just three days apart in this small town in Georgia,” JJ shows their pictures. “Nathan King was found in his own bed by his best friend after two days of not answering his phone.”

Their necks are broken, faces bloody. The cuts and bruises on their cheekbones and chin suggest a personal connection. But the gunshot to the crotch _definitely_ means it’s personal. They look nothing alike, though, so there isn’t a physical type. The first man is dark skinned with dyed blond hair and a clean-shaven face, while the second is white and has a moustache that just makes you cringe. 

“Sheriff Ansley said she was already going to call us, and then she had it brought to her attention that these two men were killed the same way as these...seven.”

“Seven?” You murmur, eyes widening at all of their pictures. Again, they look nothing alike — only a few resemble others, but not enough for an obvious type. And if the way the unsub deals with them is evidence of a personal connection, then they have a lot of personal problems. “Over what span of time?”

“Seven months,” JJ explains. 

“One kill a month,” Emily says.

“It’s only a matter of time before this unsub gets too cocky and starts killing every day,” Morgan says, voicing the thoughts of the entire team. “It seems like they’re getting close.”

“Which is why they called us,” JJ nods, pressing another button on the remote. “The local police station got this letter in the mail yesterday.” 

It’s typed, which is unfortunate because that means Reid can’t work his magic on the text. But it’s less of a letter and more of a note. Because it’s short. One sentence.

_**It is their turn to face the trials.** _

“Trials?” Emily asks. “What trials?”

There is a collective shaking of heads from everyone in the room. Not enough information to tell.

“And just an hour ago,” JJ continues. “Sheriff Ansley got a call that another man had been murdered. Same MO.” She shows the pictures of the two men once more, enlarging the most recent one, Jonathan Birk. “They’re waiting on us to do anything to the crime scene.”

“Alright, we can finish this on the jet,” Hotch says, closing the file. “Tell Sheriff Ansley we’re coming right away.”

“Got it,” JJ powers down the monitors as she picks up her phone.

You tuck the file under your arm and head for your desk, grabbing your ready bag and slinging the strap over your shoulder. You do your best to keep your eyes away from Hotch, though you do steal one glance at him. He’s in his office, gathering his things, focused and determined. He doesn’t notice you looking. You avert your eyes before he has the chance to.

+++

JJ continues giving you her knowing look the entire ride to the jet. You’re lucky Hotch is in the car, or you’re positively certain she’d start laying into you with the questions.

Hotch is all business and absolutely no jokes right now, which is understandable, since there are now nine men who are dead. 

Still, it’s a drastic change from the giggling, sleepy man who sat on your bed just two hours earlier.

You don’t know why you’re dwelling on it. It’s not like you can walk up to him and say, “Are you okay? We almost had a pillow fight a couple hours ago, and now you look like you’re seconds away from handshaking Death herself?”

The chaos that would cause.

Instead, you keep your distance a normal amount, sitting with JJ and Emily on the jet as you normally do.

Unfortunately, sitting next to JJ meant that Hotch and Emily were sitting in front of you guys, files scattered on the table in between you while a laptop is open, awaiting Garcia’s appearance with more information on the last two victims.

Being cornered with your secret-- Well, what _is_ he? If the dinners are dates, then is he...your boyfriend? No, that’s childish, and something you guys haven’t even talked about because the dinners could very well be just dinners. He hasn’t even _kissed_ you, for Christ’s sake, and that’s another grievance of yours for another day.

Regardless, being cornered with the man you obviously have feelings for and your two best friends who know you have feelings for said man makes for some interesting looks to be shared across the table.

Morgan, Rossi, and Reid stand and sit around the four of you, presumably oblivious.

Well, Rossi looks a little too knowing for your liking, especially at you. He must know all, or something, which wouldn’t surprise you, but it still makes you squirm.

“Alright, so we’ve got two guys who are sort of similar in age, not at all similar in looks, killed with what looks like a lot of smacking and punching to the face, a broken neck, and a gunshot to the crotch,” you take the lead, spewing details to get your mind focused and away from Hotch.

“Wait,” JJ pauses. “Can you die from being shot in the crotch?”

Morgan shrugs. “I might.”

The comment makes you snort. “The pain might make you pass out, but I’m sure breaking his neck was her method of killing.”

Hotch looks up from the file. “She? Why do you say she?”

“Oh,” you furrow your eyebrows, not realizing that you had. “I guess it just seems...I don’t know, I guess I was putting myself in the unsub’s shoes. How many male serial killers do we know of that have male victims that shoot said victims in the dick?”

Reid looks like he wants to open his mouth to say something, but Morgan shakes his head.

“Understood,” Hotch says to you. “But let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter, looking back down at the papers. 

You’re looking down, so you don’t see the effect your words have on Hotch, though you do notice him shifting in his seat. You bite back a smile. _Is it seriously that easy to rile him up?_

“Well, if it is a she,” you say, picking up the picture of the note left at the police station. “This note would make more sense.”

Morgan, from behind you, says, “How?”

“The trials,” you reply, like it’s all painfully obvious now. “Salem Witch Trials, anyone?” You crane your neck to look at the doctor. “Reid? Please tell me you also thought of that.”

He smiles softly, clearly exhausted. And shrugs. “For a moment,” he admits. “But there’s so many trials that I’ve read about, my mind went in a million different directions.”

“When doesn’t it, kiddo?” Morgan chuckles.

“Let’s focus, please,” Hotch reins everyone back in. “We need to try to exhaust all theories now, so if anyone needs to rest before we land, you can. You’ll need it.” He pauses, gesturing to you. “You were talking about the trials?”

You nod, half surprised he’s interested in hearing the rest of what you were thinking. “The note says it’s their turn to face the trials. The first trials were women, of course, so it would make sense for this to be about it being the men’s turn.” You pause, trying to follow that train of thought.

Reid beats you to it, talking to keep himself awake. “One of the most widely known parts of the trials was when the women would be bound and their heads shoved underwater, and if they lived, they were guilty of being a witch, but if they died, they were...human.”

“And _dead_ ,” Morgan snorts. “So what, this unsub shoots them in the crotch and if they survive they’re guilty?”

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” Garcia’s voice chimes from the laptop, her face appearing on the screen. “I did some digging and found some pretty grody stuff on Jonathan Birk and Nathan King there,” she pauses. “Both men were accused of rape and sexual assault with what looks like solid evidence, but they were acquitted.”

“On what grounds?” You ask.

“Just says there was insufficient evidence,” Garcia says. “I’ll do more digging, but it doesn’t look like there’s much more to it than that.”

“No, there usually isn’t with an acquittal,” Hotch sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Garcia, look into the other seven victims and see if this is a pattern.”

“You got it.” Garcia leaves to continue digging (and make more coffee). 

You can’t help but think go figure about it all, though. It’s almost an of course.

The court is not usually a friend to a victim of rape.

After getting through a very, very rough profile, Hotch dismisses everyone to get some rest. 

There’s at least an hour and a half before you’ll land, so Reid immediately stretches out on the couch. The jet quiets down as the rest of the team do the same, closing their eyes and Morgan puts on his headphones. 

Hotch doesn’t look like he’s going to try to sleep at all, which you think is a mistake on his part. He’s pissy enough, so maybe you shouldn’t push him, but you still do. 

“Hey,” you whisper, nudging his leg with your foot — which isn’t new, you’ve done it to each other at dinner numerous times. 

But this time when Hotch looks up, feeling your foot tapping his leg, he almost looks angry. “What?”

It’s probably just exhaustion. “You should get some rest...” You give him a pointed look to remind him of how little sleep he got and _where_ he slept instead of finishing the sentence out loud, knowing at the very least, Emily and JJ are listening in as hard as they can. 

But Hotch shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

You almost say something stupid and snarky, but you decide quickly against it. Now is probably not the best time to push his buttons. 

So, instead you say, “Suit yourself,” and turn to curl up in your seat. 

Despite your eyes being closed, you know he’s looking at you. That was half of the point of curling up here, in front of him, rather than moving to the couch with Reid. It wouldn’t be the first time you shared the jet’s small couch with the doctor. Sometimes he’d have an audiobook you also wanted to hear, or other times you really wanted to stretch out and he almost always wanted the same. 

You haven’t done it lately, though. You almost get up and go to the couch, curious about Hotch’s reaction this time around, considering things have...changed. 

Oh, that’s stupid. You catch yourself from making a face. You’re supposed to be asleep. Not fantasizing about your boss. 

But it’s hard not to when just last night, he was on your couch. And you had almost curled up next to him. 

You were sitting next to him, anyway. It would’ve been easy to explain if he happened to wake up to find you curled into him. Or if he woke up while you were tucking yourself into his chest, you could’ve pretended you were already deep in sleep. You know he wouldn’t have had the heart to wake you. 

You should’ve. Maybe then you wouldn’t be thinking about what it could feel like. Instead, you’d know. 

You shift against the window, wrapping your arms around yourself. _When did the BAU jet get cold?_

Just as you begin to feel goosebumps rising on your skin, you feel the weight of a blanket on your body. In your half-asleep state, you grip the fabric and pull it closer, nuzzling your cheek into its warmth. 

Hotch sits back down across from you, now without his suit jacket on his shoulders. 

From across the aisle, Rossi smiles, turning his head to look out the window.


	11. I thought, "Heaven can't help me now."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Case stuffs, crime scene stuffs, and Hotch is an asshole at the end (but what's new?)

When you wake, you have a strange sense of Deja Vu. Hotch is shaking your shoulder again, only this time, you’re not in your bed.

“We’re landing soon,” he says softly, hand lingering on your shoulder, but you welcome its weight and warmth, forgetting for a moment that the rest of the team is on this jet.

“Mm, okay…” You bring the blanket underneath your chin, only this is when you realize it’s not a blanket.

You tilt your head down to look at the fabric, then lift your eyes back up to see Hotch isn’t wearing his jacket.

His jacket.

_Oh my God._

He sees the realization on your face and smiles, but instead of commenting on it, he turns to start waking the others. As expected, Rossi didn’t sleep, but Reid is still quite frankly passed out. Emily, JJ, and Morgan are coming around, though, and upon seeing that, you scramble to get Hotch’s jacket off of you, catching Rossi’s eyes in the process.

“You were cold,” Rossi says with a shrug, and a smirk.

You shouldn’t be mortified, but you are.

After folding Hotch’s jacket over your arm, you wait until your boss is sitting back down to hand it to him with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he says, thinking nothing of it as he shrugs it back over his shoulders. When he sees you’re still looking at him like that, he adds, “You were getting goosebumps. Would you have rather I let you freeze to death?”

Is he making a joke? You wonder, with the corners of his lips tugging upward. You shake your head, saying nothing else.

No wonder you slept so soundly.

+++

Upon arriving at the local police station, you’re all met with the usual: desperate officers who want you to snap your fingers and find the unsub ASAP.

And, they always look pretty displeased when you admit that you need time.

You swear sometimes people think the BAU is made up of sorcerers who can see the future and not regular humans who are just trained to recognize and predict behaviors. 

Regardless, they’re happy you’re here.

“I was shocked myself when I made the connection,” Sheriff Ansley says, nodding to the pictures of the other seven victims, with Nathan and Jonathan at the end. “Those others were so spaced out, we just… Oh, it sounds bad, but when you’ve got other problems coming across your desk, they can all blur together.”

“We understand,” you say, trying to be the comforting one here, even though you’re feeling more and more like time doesn’t exist and that you’ve entered a third dimension.

A few hours of sleep and jet lag can really do a person in. Especially with the added stressor of Hotch standing next to you.

“Morgan, L/N, I need you to come to the crime scene with me,” Hotch says, and your eyes widen the moment your name slips from his mouth. Is he trying to mess with you? You figured after covering you up on the jet, he’d make a conscious effort to be as far away from you today as possible. Just because Morgan is also coming along doesn’t mean much. Profilers aren’t dense.

“Prentiss and I will go talk to the victim’s family,” Rossi says, nodding to Emily.

Reid says nothing, too engrossed by the pictures and details tacked up on the board. Though, after a moment, he says, “I need a map of the town. Maybe the region. Yeah...the region.”

A little confused, Sheriff Ansely replies, “We’ll get that for you.”

JJ notices the confusion and says, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

With everyone focused, you pile into a vehicle with Hotch and Morgan up front (you purposefully sit in the back) to head to the crime scene. Sheriff Ansley leads in her car, and about two seconds in, you wish you would’ve thought to ride with her.

“You know I have to ask,” Morgan begins, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks over at Hotch. “What did you get up to last night? Get lucky?”

Hotch looks ready to backhand his fellow agent. “No.”

Morgan keeps going. “Come on, Hotch, it’s about time you get some.”

“For now, I’ll stick to the case.”

Morgan huffs, giving in, which you think is for the better. But when Morgan turns his head to look out the window, Hotch catches your eyes in the rearview mirror.

You sink as far down as you can in your seat, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

+++

You have no clue what you were expecting when you pictured the outside of Jonathan King’s house, but it wasn’t this.

A few police cars are already here, their men having already gone in to look around, but not touch anything. A few cars look tiny next to the monster that is the mansion you’re looking at.

“I thought this was a small town,” you mutter, closing the car door.

“Jonathan’s daddy was the owner of the only car dealership in town,” Sheriff Ansley explains. “They were big money.”

“I can tell,” you shake your head. “Definitely don’t have houses like this where I’m from.”

The sheriff chuckles. “Yeah. Before they built it, this was a wide open field. Tiny house. Space for all kinds of animals. Had a red barn out there,” she points off to where a gigantic pool complete with a rock waterfall is.

You hum. “A lot changes for the worse sometimes when money comes in.”

She looks at you then, almost like she respects you a little more now. Which isn’t unusual. The sheriffs in small towns don’t exactly like having to call the FBI in for help. Some do it rather begrudgingly. It’s more often than not that you find yourself being the bridge between big city and small town.

“Any signs of forced entry?” Hotch asks the first officer he sees and they shake their head.

“Nothing. But this damn mansion is so big…” He trails away, looking around at it all.

“I understand,” Hotch sighs. “If you find anything, let us know.”

“Hotch,” you speak up, nearly tapping his shoulder, but you quickly pull your hand back. “If this unsub is a woman, then it’s likely there won’t be any forced entry.”

The sheriff nods. “She has a point.”

“How?” Morgan asks, eyebrows furrowed over his sunglasses.

“Seriously?” You deadpan. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

He catches on, and drawls, “Go right ahead,” prompting you to shove his shoulder.

“Focus,” Hotch scolds. “I hear you. He probably let her in.”

“Did Jonathan have a reputation of being a player?” Morgan asks. “Take a lot of girls out on dates? Get serious with a lot of them but never marriage-serious?”

Sheriff Ansley nearly snorts. “Oh, yeah. He was the town’s bachelor. New woman every week. Swore every single one was The One.”

You nod slowly. “He must’ve picked up the wrong one, then.”

“Evidently so,” she replies quietly, leading the three of you into the house.

Hotch opts for looking around the house with the sheriff while you and Morgan go to Jonathan’s bedroom.

And he’s still lying there. _Wonderful_.

You nearly gag, but stop yourself. You’re never going to get used to this shit. At least there isn’t blood literally drenching the walls like that other case.

_Moving on._

“Looks like it’s the exact same MO,” Morgan comments, idly checking the body for anything the officers might’ve missed.

You dig around on Jonathan’s dresser, drawers, nightstand, everywhere. 

“This guy was seriously rich,” you mutter, picking up a few really expensive watches. Upon opening one drawer, you literally find a wad of cash. At least two thousand dollars, stuffed in between pairs of socks. “The unsub didn’t take this?” You hold up the cash to Morgan.

“She must not’ve spent time here,” he concludes. “Doesn’t look like she took any trophies either.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say, then crack a smile. “So you’re on my side then, huh?”

He turns his head, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s a woman.”

Morgan chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m on your side. This has woman all over it.”

“Kiddo,” you groan, tossing the cash back in the drawer. “Any clothes from the unsub lying around? I’m guessing she’s smarter than that.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing,” Morgan says, going into the bathroom. “The window in here is locked tight.”

“I really doubt she forced her way in,” you say. “He probably took her out on a date, brought her inside willingly, and didn’t realize until it was too late that he should not have messed with her.” You pause. “Does this place have security cameras? It looks expensive enough to have them. We should get Garcia to get the footage.”

You’re too busy rambling to see that Morgan has walked back into the room, only this time he’s eyeing you carefully.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Listen, I know these guys were…” He gestures rather than saying it.

“Rapists?” You say tiredly, placing your hands on your hips. No need to be afraid of saying the word around you. You’ve heard it plenty and said it yourself more times than you want to. “What about it?”

“I just wanted to say I know how good it can feel to see someone like that taken down,” Morgan says slowly. “And then you feel guilty for feeling good.”

You set your jaw, hating he’s right. You’ve yet to admit it to yourself, though. Isn’t it wrong? On multiple levels? You’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not relate to them so much that you understand why they’re doing this.

“And I know it can also bring up some bad memories, but, I’m here for you,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “I mean that.”

“Thanks, Derek,” you whisper. “It does...kinda feel good, but...I know it’s the wrong way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make a difference,” you shrug. “If I killed Trevor, I’d be taking the short route. That’s why I’m here. To make a bigger difference.”

He smiles then, gently. “And you’re doin’ it. Trust me.”

You let yourself smile, too. “Thanks. Now let’s get back to work before boss man comes in here telling us to _focus_ ,” you mimic Hotch’s voice and tone at the end, making yourself laugh as you turn back around.

And that’s when you have the absolute shit scared out of you because Hotch is standing there, frowning at you. Oh, he totally heard that.

“Sorry, sir,” you murmur, knowing you should apologize while you’re ahead.

Thankfully, to save yourself from embarrassment, Morgan’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it out and puts it on speaker.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“All of our other victims? Yeah, they were accused of rape, too. Four of them were acquitted or blatantly dismissed, three of them with such short sentences it probably felt like a vacation.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds about right.”

Hotch eyes you, but talks to Garcia. “Get us a list of anyone in this region that fits those same criteria.”

“Already done, and it is heading to JJ as we speak.”

Morgan shakes his head at how good she is. “Oh, and check and see if you can get the footage from Jonathan’s security cameras at his house. Y/N thinks he should have some.”

“She’s correct, I just found them,” Garcia says, no doubt through a smile. “I’ll send the footage over and start looking.”

“We should get back to the station and go over those names, see if we can narrow it down at all,” Hotch says. “Hopefully Garcia can get us something from that video.”

+++

Garcia gathers one thing from the video, but it’s not anything to do with facial recognition.

For now, it’s obvious this woman is a strong suspect because she’s the only one seen entering and leaving the house (she walked out right through the front door with her head down) in the window of time that Jonathan was killed. But...

“There’s not a clear shot at all,” Garcia says. “Because they’re… How do I put this? His lips are basically attacking her face and it’s a miracle they made it inside instead of just going at it against the door.”

Morgan snorts out a laugh, Reid (who is working on connecting the nine victims further) goes impossibly red, and Hotch shakes his head.

“Well, we’ve got a physical description now,” Rossi says, trying to see the bright side before Hotch loses it, you’re sure. 

“Yeah, but it’s just a young brunette in a dress and heels,” Emily argues. “That’s nowhere near narrow enough.”

“Brown hair is actually the second most common hair color,” Reid supplies. “The most common is black, but they’re usually lumped together in studies. A recent one found that 84% of the world’s population has dark hair. But, of course, women are more likely to color their hair than men—”

“We got it,” Morgan says gently, tapping Reid’s shoulder to get him to slow down. 

“So,” you chuckle, “she has dark hair, which are the two most common hair colors.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a thought occurs to you. “Wait, can I see the video again?”

Garcia plays it again.

“Pause there,” you point to the woman’s hands. “See how she reaches for his wrist?”

“Where are you going with this?” Morgan asks.

It’s then that it occurs to you just where you’re going with this, and you try to hide your embarrassment. 

“You can play it again.” After a few seconds, you get Garcia to pause again. “See? She tries to pin his wrists. She’s dominating. She’s the one in control there. See how his back is against the door, too? He didn’t start that way, she turned them around to get the upper hand.”

“So she’s confident,” Emily ponders.

“In sexual situations, at least,” you add. “Some women who are outwardly shy, but like to dominate in bed. It can be different for everyone.”

“So you’re saying we’re looking for a super quiet, shy woman?”

“Not necessarily. Given that she has had enough confidence to kill these nine men without anyone noticing, I’d be willing to bet she’s pretty confident now. It could be a newfound confidence, or she honestly could have always been this way. A lot of Dominatrixes are pretty confident outside of the bedroom, too. Maybe not in the same way, but they are. Just comes with the territory.”

“A territory you seem to know a lot about,” Morgan teases, poking your shoulder.

You scoff. “You wish.” 

But your eyes find Hotch’s and you feel another rush go through you, all the way to your toes. You burn every single time you’re underneath his gaze. Averting your eyes quickly back to the screen, you try to shift in your seat in the least noticeable way. 

It’s not like he doesn’t already know. If he seriously doesn’t know or at least have some suspicion, then you might suggest he get a new profession.

Redirecting the attention back to the case, Hotch turns to Sheriff Ansley and says, “We’re ready to give a preliminary profile.”

The team stands to head out to the main area. You and Hotch are the last two left, which you’re sure he did deliberately.

“You should take the lead,” he says, and you swear, your heart falls out of your ass.

“What?” You’ve never taken the lead on a profile in your life. Why would he just spring this on you right now? On this case, of all cases? Seriously?

He doesn’t change his mind. “I trust you to get all of the details right. And we’ll jump in when needed, but I want you to take the lead.”

You’re shaking your head. “Hotch, I haven’t—”

“It’s an order,” he says, voice firm. “Understood?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes what?”

 _Bastard_. He did it again. “Yes sir.”

And your jaw nearly ends up on the floor when he smirks, a quiet, “Good girl,” falling from his lips.

Damn him. Now you’re supposed to give the profile? How bad would it be to let Emily take over so you can jump Hotch in the nearest supply closet?

You never find out how bad it would be because Hotch walks out and thanks the officers for being there, and introduces you, giving you zero time to recover. 

“Thank you so much for your patience,” you say first. “The unsub we’re looking for is, in fact, a woman, confirmed by some security footage that was recovered from Jonathan King’s home. She’s a brunette, average height, attractive, and she’s confident. She’s killed nine times and hasn’t been caught yet, so she’s likely to be gaining confidence.”

An officer raises his hand, so you nod to him. “No offense...but your description fits practically every girl in this town -- I guess, besides the killing part.”

“That’s what we figured,” you admit. “Unfortunately, this kind of unsub is the hardest to catch. They don’t stand out at all, they blend right in. It’s partly why they go so long without being caught.”

“But they’re not impossible to catch,” Rossi adds, helping you out with the annoyed officers. “This unsub has already killed twice in a week, which could be a sign that she’s beginning to devolve. When they’re in this state, they are easier to catch because they tend to get reckless and forget things, change patterns, which is what we need.”

“So we need to keep a tight lid on this for now,” JJ says. “The media isn’t going to cover this at all tonight because we need our unsub to believe she’s still getting away with it.”

Another officer pipes up. “If the news isn’t gonna report this, how can we keep people safe?”

It’s a valid question. It’s one that you always get when you decide to not have media coverage.

“Keep an eye out. And don’t take any women home,” Morgan offers.

But that doesn’t seem good enough, because the same officer says, “All due respect, sir, but asking a man not to do that is like asking him not to breathe.”

The amount of laughter and you got that right’s that you hear from the other male officers makes your stomach twist. Morgan’s small laugh makes you want to smack him.

“Well, try to refrain for a while,” you state plainly, bringing the focus back around. “If you can help it.”

Another officer says, “I don’t know if I can…” and clicks his tongue mockingly.

“Well, this unsub targets rapists,” you say loudly, placing emphasis on the word. “So if you aren’t a rapist, consider yourself safe and sound.”

That causes an uncomfortable silence to settle over the room, but you could care less. It should make them uncomfortable. It’s unfair that it’s something women have to just live with. It’s bullshit.

Emily and JJ share a look with you, the only kind women can understand. Makes you want a drink. And it’s not even late afternoon yet. 

Rossi helps draw things to a close while Hotch practically stares you down. Not subtle at all. You feel it, and for that reason, you don’t look at him. But he’s hard to ignore.

Especially when he walks over and says, “I need to have a word with you,” and walks past you, giving you no choice but to follow.

Well, you could choose not to follow, but you’re not so sure you want to take your chances there. Not that the thrill of the idea doesn’t get you all excited, but now is not the time or place.

So, with your heart racing and your annoyance showing clearly on your face, you follow your boss to an office at the end of the hall. He’s waiting for you, already inside, and he doesn’t look happy.

What’s new?

He shuts the door behind you, his arms crossing over his chest again.

After a few moments of silence, you raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Don’t be a brat,” he says sternly, causing your stomach to twist for different reason. “And don’t say what. You know _what_.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t, actually. That’s why I asked.”

He looks ready to absolutely devour you in the worst way possible, yet he doesn’t move. “I understand that after the case in your hometown—”

“ _God_ , why does everyone keep bringing that up?” You’re two seconds away from throwing your hands in the air like a child, but you stop yourself after the look he gives you.

“Because it just happened three weeks ago,” he replies, voice even. “And because it took a toll on you. That’s not something to be ashamed of, it’s just a fact.”

“You’ve never been up my ass about cases like this, not until you found out.”

“My knowing has not changed anything,” he says, and you think he might mean it. “And last I checked, this is your first case with a female unsub attacking rapists.”

You could punch him. You really want to punch him. “What’s your point?”

“I need to know that you can be objective,” he says. “I know you relate to our unsub. I know how easy it was for you to put yourself in her shoes. You did it almost immediately. I’ll bet you knew it was a female unsub within the first few seconds of the debriefing.”

He’s right. _Dammit_. “And?”

“I need you to be on our side of this case.”

“I am!”

“Are you?” He counters. “If you knew who this unsub was, would you turn her in?”

“Are you suggesting—”

“Hypothetically.”

“ _Yes!_ For God’s sake, yes, I would turn her in.”

“Are you being honest with me?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you have something else to say you might as well say it while we’re alone.”

He doesn’t move. Or say a single word. 

_So much for that._

“Look,” you uncross your arms, tired of fighting already. It’s exhausting on any normal day, but pair it with jet lag and it being between you and the man you obviously care for, and it’s a million times more exhausting. “Yes, I get where this unsub is coming from. Honestly, if it was legal and if there was a market for a job like what she’s doing, I probably would’ve gone into it instead of the FBI. But there isn’t. Because killing people is illegal. So I decided to go to the FBI to make a bigger difference— a real difference. Yes, I relate to the unsub. I get why she’s doing what she’s doing. But just because I get it doesn’t make it right.”

“Good,” he nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have even had to say it.” 

The room falls silent. 

Hotch sees it then, that look in your eyes. During the profile, it was all determination and confidence. When you entered the office, it was bratty and defiant.

Now, it’s _hurt_. 

That’s all he sees. And frankly, that’s all you’re feeling. 

Since he doesn’t say anything else, you take it upon yourself to say, “Excuse me,” and join the team in the conference room with only one question on your mind. 

_Does he not trust me at all?_


	12. Honey, Hell is when I fight with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of arguing. Lots of swearing. Lots of feelings. :(

“This can’t be a narrowed list,” you groan, looking at the two sheets of paper in your hand. “There has to be five hundred names here.”

You’re staring at a huge ass list of rapists in the general area. Not just this town, but in the region, because the team found that some of the victims were convicted in other towns, but moved here. Two (victims 4 and 6) were actually killed in other towns, but still in this region. 

“Two hundred and seventy seven, actually,” Reid supplies easily, not looking up from the map. “I had Garcia get rid of anyone who moved out of state or country, and a couple others were actually arrested for other crimes, so they’re currently in jail.”

“Lucky for them, I guess,” Morgan mutters.

“It’s gonna take hours to make any progress with this,” Emily complains.

You’re not even sure what the hell the point is of looking at this list. It’s too broad. Narrowing it down will help generate a victim list, but that’s just people who might get killed. But even then, as far as you know, this is only one unsub.

Well, you guess finding their survivors and seeing if there is a correlation— No, you don’t even want to think about that right now.

“Might as well start now,” JJ shrugs. “I’ll go grab some coffee.”

As she leaves, Hotch enters, eyes locked on you.

Shit. You weren’t intending to make eye contact with him, it just sort of happened. Like always. 

But you’re still...hurt. Confused? You’re a lot of things right now that you weren’t just before the profile. It’s barely been an hour and it feels like so much has shifted.

Hell, the _universe_ has shifted since 5am this morning.

“I got some contact information for Jonathan and Nathan’s victim,” Hotch announces.

“Woah,” Emily looks up abruptly. “Singular?”

“Yes,” Hotch says quietly. “Her name is Abby Hawkins. L/N, I want you to come with me to speak to her.”

You look up then, eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why me?”

“Because she’ll trust you.”

“Well, she definitely won’t trust you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a man, clearly of some financial or high social status, just like Jonathan. I’m better taking Emily or JJ. Or Reid.” Spencer is always better to take because he’ll ramble about something and you won’t get cornered into talking about your feelings. And he’s literally harmless.

Hotch stares you down. “Go get in the car.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, but I’m driving.”

You brush past him, careful not to touch his shoulder with yours like you would’ve done to tease him on any normal day.

How is it that just this morning he was sitting on your bed?

Whatever. You have a case to focus on.

You’re already buckled and have your hands on the wheel when Hotch gets in the passenger side. You don’t look at him, instead waiting until you hear the door close and his seatbelt click before you put the vehicle in reverse.

Once on the main road, Hotch quietly directs you where to turn, but says nothing otherwise.

You pull the car into the parking lot of a women’s shelter, assuming (or hoping, rather) that this is Abby’s place of work and not her home.

“Probably best if you let me do most of the talking,” you say. “At least to Abby.”

“I agree,” Hotch replies. You half-expected some snide remark to come from him, so you’re more than happy with this response.

“I’m sorry if my recent job performance has led you to distrust me,” you say, wanting this handled before any longer. “I’ll try my best to do better from here on out.”

And on that note, you exit the vehicle, not wanting to see Hotch’s face or hear anything that he has to say right now. You needed to get that out for you, not because you want his approval.

Hotch nearly cusses out loud when you shut the car door. You slipped right through his fingers. Again.

He really needs to stop choking on his words.

You’re already at the front door before Hotch joins you, nodding at you to lead the way. You step inside and easily find the front desk.

It’s exactly what you’d expect from a women’s shelter. This one looks like it handles donations and resources more than it is actual housing, but it’s not unlike the housing portion to be separated or hidden away. Safety issues, and all.

“Hi there,” you offer a smile to the young girl at the desk. She can’t be a day over fourteen. “I’m Agent L/N and this is Agent Hotchner. We’re looking for Abby Hawkins?”

The girl’s eyes widen a little upon seeing FBI on your badges, but she quickly covers it up. “She’s sorting right now. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you,” you keep your smile, following the girl down the hall.

At the end of the corridor there is a massive room, filled floor to ceiling with donations. Clothes, diapers, canned foods, blankets, everything. And in the middle of it all, stands Abby Hawkins. She has short red hair, cut shorter than a bob, but longer than a pixie. It’s not long enough to pull back, so there’s a headband on her head pushing it all out of her eyes.

“Mom!” The fourteen-year-old yells out, nearly making you stop in your tracks. “These people were looking for you.”

Abby looks up with furrowed eyebrows, then back to her daughter. “Thanks honey. Did you finish your homework?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s hard. It’s algebra.”

“Okay, well, we’ll look at it at dinner.” Her daughter nods, liking that idea. Abby looks back to the two of you and adds, “Why don’t you go play on the computer for a bit?”

Her eyes light up then, and she grins. “Okay!” Then she’s running off, presumably to wherever the computer is.

“She’s a ball of energy,” you comment with a small laugh, trying to ease some of the already growing tension. “I’m Agent L/N, this is Agent Hotchner.” You both show your badges again. “We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about Jonathan King and Nathan Birk.”

You know the look that passes over Abby’s face all too well. It was one that you wore just three weeks ago.

“What do you wanna know?” She asks, sounding drained already.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but um, Jonathan and Nathan are dead,” you pause, knowing the relief that passes over Abby’s face all too well also. “They were killed.”

Abby says nothing for a long moment. Then, almost through a laugh, but there are tears in her eyes, too, she says, “Is it bad that I’m...relieved?”

“Not at all,” Hotch says softly.

Abby wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Um...what did you need to ask me about them?” She pauses. “You don’t think I did it, do you?”

“No, no, we know who did it-- Well, we have footage of her, and she has long, dark hair,” you watch Abby’s face for any recognition, but that’s still hard to gauge with how common dark hair is.

“That’s like all my girlfriends,” Abby shrugs. “And I don’t think they’d kill him. We joked about it, you know, how best friends do, but I don’t think any of them would seriously go through with that.”

“I understand,” you nod. “My mom and I did the same.”

Abby’s features soften then in understanding. “So you know how it is.”

“And I know it was incredibly strong of you to take those men to court,” you say, wishing for a moment that you could hug her. “I didn’t. I was too scared.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” she jokes, wiping a stray tear. “They were acquitted. Didn’t even matter.”

You can sense she’s done with the subject, so you move on. “We think the woman responsible is from the area. She’s been targeting rapists who were acquitted, dismissed, or given short sentences. She’s average height, attractive, um, it looks right now like she goes home with them as a one night stand, and that’s when she kills them. She’s confident, she’s dominant,” you pause, searching Abby’s eyes. “Is there anyone at all who you might know that fits that description?”

She thinks for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I don’t, I’m sorry,” she sighs. “The physical description, that’s practically this entire area, you know. And I can’t think of anyone that would do that for me.”

“Okay,” you nod, fishing your business card out of your pocket. “If there’s anything else you can think of, please call. Anything at all helps.”

“I will, thank you,” Abby takes the card and nods. 

You and Hotch see yourselves out, and you wave to Abby’s daughter when you pass by the office. She’s too engrossed in her game to notice, so you get more of a half-wave than anything, and it makes you laugh.

But inside your brain, the wheels are turning.

“What about someone on the jury?” You ask. “Did Garcia cross-reference all of the jurors on all of the cases?”

From the steering wheel, Hotch nods. “She did. A few came up, but it was one elderly woman, and two men.”

“So not our unsub,” you sigh, leaning your elbow on the door. Then you scoff. “That was stupid of me to ask.”

“Why?”

“This unsub has obviously been hurt. What’s the first thing they ask you when you sit down in the courtroom?”

Hotch nods, understanding. “Do you have any personal connection to this case? She would’ve had a connection, being hurt in the past, and she would’ve been dismissed.”

“Exactly,” you say. “And I don’t think a lawyer fits our profile, either. A lawyer wouldn’t be able to be out late hours in the night like that. Even if she worked in the court, she’d be too busy.” You shake your head. “We’re really looking for someone completely normal, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Hotch says, sounding about as defeated as you feel.

For a moment, you almost forgot about what he said to you earlier. The accusations he might as well have said bluntly to your face. You turn your head to look out the window.

Hotch knows this is going to be the last moment the two of you will be alone for a long while. Unless he pulls you away again, but he’d have to have a good reason to avoid the watchful eyes of the team.

He sucks in a breath, deciding to just do it. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen, your head spinning to look at him so quick you nearly give yourself whiplash. “What?”

“For earlier,” he keeps going, but doesn’t look at you. 

In fact, he looks more focused on the road ahead than apologizing. You don’t want him to crash the car, but a glance in your direction would be nice. 

He continues after a moment. “If I was too harsh.”

 _“If?”_ You could scream. This is his form of an apology?

“Yes, if I was too harsh,” he says again, not seeing the problem.

“You can’t apologize while asking _if_ there’s something you should be apologizing for,” you say quietly, desperately not in the mood for an argument right now. “But in any case, you’re my boss. You’re supposed to be harsh.”

Hotch is quiet.

“I’d appreciate it, though, if you would give me a heads up before making me take the lead in a profile.”

“Why? You handled it well.”

“Apparently, I didn’t because you had to have a conversation with me immediately after.” _Where you basically told me you don’t trust me to do this job._

“Yes, but that was because you made an inappropriate comment--”

“Oh, _I_ made an inappropriate comment?” You nearly laugh from the hysteria of it all. “What about you? Good girl? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

 _Shit_. He didn’t know you heard that. “I apologize for that--”

“No, you know what? _That’s_ inappropriate. We’re supposed to be professionals. Me calling out men for their rape jokes is not inappropriate. It’s what should be _normal_.”

“I agree with you, but we need to work _with_ these officers.”

“I’m not stupid, Hotch, I _know_ how cases work.”

“Then you’d understand that sometimes we have to bite our tongues to get things to run smoothly.”

“Trust me, you don’t need to teach me how to bite my tongue.” I’m doin _g it right now, believe it or not._

Thank God you’re getting close to the police precinct. You think you might go clinically insane if you have to spend another five minutes in this car with him.

You’re out of the car before he even shuts the engine off. You’re fuming by the time you make it inside, and Emily notices, immediately wanting to know what happened.

“What did he _do_?” She asks, looking genuinely worried.

“He’s just being a fucking asshole,” you mutter, not even bothering to look and see if Hotch is around. Because right now, quite frankly, you don’t give a shit. “Anyway. We got nowhere with Abby. She said she can’t think of anyone that would seriously go through with something like this. So we think we’re going to be looking for a full on mercenary.”

You follow Emily back into the conference room to join the rest of the team. Hotch is already there, his back facing you as he talks with Reid about the map he’s been working on.

Just the sight of his back has your blood boiling. 

To calm yourself down, you slide into the chair next to Morgan. He’s eyeing you up and down, clearly aware that something happened.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod. “Fine.” Then, before he can ask again, you switch subjects. “Get anywhere with the list?”

“No duplicate victims,” Morgan says, shaking his head.

You nod again, a little relieved at the fact, but you know that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Just that they haven’t reported. “Did you guys try finding if any of the survivors from the past rapists have anything in common?”

“Nothing,” Emily sighs. “Aside from being women, that’s about all they’ve got in common.”

“Right,” you say, propping your head in your hand. Between being woken up at 5a.m., thrown on a jet, and now arguing with your boss, you’re exhausted. “What did Jonathan’s family have to say?”

Emily shrugs. “Not much. They knew about what he had done, but they said they couldn’t think of anyone that would have it out for him.”

“So what do we do?”

Reid is the one to speak up, surprising you because you thought Hotch was with him, but Hotch and Rossi have disappeared. “We wait for more bodies.”

You know he’s right, but you hate that he’s right. And you hate that this is how some cases go. You guys get here, go over everything, check out all crime scenes and witnesses and families, and then you wait. You wait for people to die.

Somehow, this time it doesn’t make you nauseous. But that’s probably because it’s rapists who are dying.

+++

Thankfully, the police let you guys take the previous and recent files of the murders back with you to the hotel. You’ve all had a long day and need some sleep, and it’s not like waiting around in a police precinct is going to find this unsub any better than sitting around in a hotel room will.

You make a dash for the bathroom as soon as you’re inside the hotel lobby because you desperately need to pee (too much coffee). Once you’re finished, you walk back out to the lobby, ready to divvy up room keys, only to find one team member standing there.

And it’s your boss.

_For fuck’s sake._

You want to say that out loud, but no, you don’t. Because you’re an adult.

So, with as neutral of an expression as you can muster, you walk up to him and say, “What room did they put us in?”

If he has a comment, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “204,” and heads for the elevator.

You follow, genuinely debating stomping your feet like a petulant child and rolling your eyes at his back. 

If this lobby wasn’t so crowded, you might’ve.

The elevator ride is silent and reminiscent of this morning. You’re on opposite sides, eyes staring straight ahead. Only this time, you’d rather be anywhere else.

You could almost cry when you reach the room, anxiously waiting as Hotch unlocks the door. And when the door opens, you nearly do cry.

One bed.

_One fucking bed._

This is it. This is the day you die. It must be.

Thank God there’s a couch in here. It’s small, but you’ll take a cramped couch over a bed with Hotch right now. Which is shocking. You’re well aware. But he’s grumpy, you’re pissed at him, and quite frankly, if he touches you right now, you might set yourself on fire -- and not in the good way.

You toss your bag down at the edge of the couch before plopping onto it, ignoring Hotch’s eyes as you kick off your shoes and open up the file. JJ had copies made so everyone has a folder filled with all of the murders. You don’t care if you have to stay up all night staring at it to avoid talking to him. You’ll fucking do it.

Thankfully, Hotch makes no attempt to try to talk to you.

It would be obnoxious to say you’re disappointed, wouldn’t it?

Probably. But you can’t help but feel a small sliver of disappointment when the bathroom door shuts and the shower turns on.

You want him to ignore you. But does he have to?

Something inside of you just wishes he’d get it all over with. Does he have feelings for you? Or does he not? You need to know the answer.

You need to know, but do you want to know?

Probably not.

You grab your phone from your jacket, shaking your head at the messages.

**_Emily: We’re in 209 if you need to “get some air”_ **

**_JJ: Hotch looked like he was going to talk to you?? Details!!_ **

You write back to JJ first. **_There are no details to share. He’s ignoring me._**

Then Emily. _**Seriously might take you up on that in a few mins.**_

But first, you’re going to try to handle this as an adult. Because at the end of the day, he’s your boss. And if you can’t deal with this, then you need to seriously rethink staying in the BAU.

 _Woah_. Calm down. You’re getting ahead of yourself again.

You toss the file aside to go on the search for some extra blankets. You can steal one of the billion pillows they pile on the bed and be content, but as far as blankets go, there’s not one.

And there’s none in the drawers or closet, either.

Sighing, you pick up the phone and dial the lobby, putting in your request.

After hanging up, you nearly jump out of your skin because Hotch is standing there in nothing but a towel, hair wet and water dripping all over his shoulders. His bare chest. His--

“Who was that?”

“The front desk,” you blurt, using an embarrassing amount of effort to keep your eyes above his neck.

“What did they want?”

“Extra blankets,” you blurt again, nearly smacking yourself. “I was asking for extra blankets.”

He looks at the bed, then at you, and furrows his eyebrows. “Why? Are you cold?”

 _Would you keep me warm?_ You dare to ask, but you leave it alone. “No, just wanted some so I can get comfortable on the couch.” You gesture to the aforementioned piece of furniture.

He looks over at it, then back at you, still confused. “Why?”

 _Jesus Christ, are you stupid?_ “...because I’m going to sleep there?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m smaller? Look, if you want the couch, I won’t argue with you. I just thought, since I’m shorter, it’d be easier to just--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he cuts you off, waving to the bed. “We can both take the bed. It’s big enough.”

 _No, the hell we can not._ “I’m good with the couch.”

“It’s barely a loveseat.”

“And? I’m short.”

“You’re almost as tall as me.”

“In heels. I don’t sleep in heels.”

“I sure hope not.”

“So, with that settled, I’ll take the couch,” you say, thinking that’s the end of it, but no, it’s not. Because he always has to take it one step too far, doesn’t he?

“No, you can be an adult and sleep on the bed.”

It’s no secret that you have to jokingly tell yourself that you have to handle things like an adult to get yourself to do them. It comes with being in your early twenties, you think. You’ve been an adult practically since you turned sixteen, but that doesn’t mean you don’t joke about behaving like one to yourself.

To yourself.

Something about the way Hotch said it, the sneer in his voice, the look in his eye, coupled with today’s events — all of it has your blood beginning to boil.

“An _adult_?” You say evenly, raising an eyebrow, daring him to say it again.

“Yes?” He returns your tone. “Is it that foreign of a concept to you?”

You stare at him blankly. “You better be joking.”

“Why would I be joking?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You nearly yell, fed up with it all. “You’ve been on my ass all goddamn day for inappropriate comments and God knows what else you’ve decided that I’ve done wrong, and now you’re telling me to act like a fucking adult?”

“We’ve already discussed this--”

“No, _you_ gave a half-assed apology asking me _if_ there was something you should be sorry for. That is _not_ a discussion.” You pause, lowering your accusatory finger that you had raised in his direction. “And since we’re being adults, let’s have the discussion right now.”

“Right now?” He says.

“Yes, _right_ now,” you hold your ground. “Lay it all on the table. What’s really wrong?”

Surprising you -- and terrifying you, if you’re honest -- Hotch takes the bait. “You piss me off--”

“ _Good!_ The feeling is fucking mutual!”

“--because you act like this is still high school--”

“Oh, give me a break--”

“And you walk around like if you don’t get your way, you’re not doing anything at all. Like a _child_.”

“If I’m such a fucking child, then why did you ask me out to dinner in the first place?”

There it is. The real question. 

The room falls deadly silent as soon as the words leave your lips.

Hotch stares, one hand still gripping his towel while the other hangs down by his side. After what feels like five years, he says, “What? It was just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” You ask, wanting to call him on his bluff, but he’s not budging. Why isn’t he budging?

“Yes, _just_ dinner,” he repeats, looking harder at you. “What did you think it was?”

This time, you do throw your hands in the air. “I don’t know!”

“Then why are you so upset?” Hotch pauses, waving wildly. “It’s not like I have feelings for you.”

You blink. There it is. Your worst case scenario. Out in the open. Happening right in front of you.

Part of you knew that you should be prepared for this. After all, he is older. He’s lived a lot more life than you. Hell, he might be trying to patch things up with Haley in his spare time. Or maybe after her, he’s against ever being in a relationship at all ever again. You knew that these were possibilities.

But you ignored them. You did what you’re best at, and you got your hopes up. Even as he infuriated you to no end, you still thought, maybe there was something more there. Just maybe.

You shouldn’t have let your heart get carried away again.

When you don’t answer, Hotch’s face softens a fraction, but you don’t notice.

You can’t breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest. Your eyes feel hot. But you can’t let him see you cry, not like this, not about this.

So, you walk over to your bag. You shove your feet into your shoes. You grab the file and stuff it inside, pocketing your phone. Picking up the pieces of your heart while you’re at it.

“Y/N,” Hotch says quietly, barely there.

You hastily wipe away a stray tear that had fallen against your wishes. “I’m gonna go to JJ and Emily’s room,” you say, barely above a whisper. You’ll take their floor over this room. You’ll take the rooftop over this damn room.

You look up, staring right at your boss, the man you foolishly let yourself fall for. 

And he doesn’t say a word.

That’s enough of an answer for you.

You leave him standing there, towel and all. How good he looks. How good he would’ve felt. Too good to be true. That’s all it ever was.

How stupid you were to even think it was ever a possibility.

The walk to Emily and JJ’s room seems longer than it should be. It’s only a few rooms down, but the hallway seems to grow longer with each step. You know that’s only your mind playing tricks on you, though. Everything feels fuzzy now, out of place and out of tune.

You’ve barely knocked when their door is swinging open, and Emily’s grin turns to a frown.

“What happened?” JJ asks, already pulling you inside.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it right now,” you chuckle, despite the tears that escape down your cheeks. “You guys mind if I stay with you?”

“Not at all,” Emily shakes her head. “I was just about to raid the mini-bar.”

“Count me in,” you smile, ready for a girl’s night.

But most importantly: ready for a night away from Hotch.


	13. I can't talk to you when you're like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst! More of the case as well

It’s 6a.m. when you’re rudely woken up by a blaring alarm. JJ groans as she smacks the clock, stopping its incessant beeping.

Their room was the lucky one with two king sized beds. You didn’t mind sharing a bed with either of them – you ended up next to Emily.

JJ is up and heading to get dressed far quicker than you want to move, but you know you have no choice. There’s a serial killer running rampant out there, so today is a 7a.m. start – 6:30 if you can help it. You know Hotch will be sending texts any moment now about wanting to get an early start.

The thought of Hotch sends your mind spiraling again. The memories of your argument come flooding back and all you want to do is fall into a sinkhole.

But you refuse to let him have power over you like that. You’re a professional. You’re here to do a job, so you’re going to do it. Feelings be damned.

It’s not like you expected anything different, so you honestly don’t know why you’re so torn up over this. It must be the fact that the two of you were going to regular dinners, and that he would pay and drive. Sharing wine and listening to your favorite vinyls surely didn’t help matters, either.

But you misread it all. How hysterical of you. How typical of you.

Throwing the covers off your body, you sit up, your hand reaching over to shake Emily’s shoulder.

“I’m awake,” she says into her pillow. “I don’t wanna be, but I am.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress.

Once your feet hit the floor, it’s like a bolt of electricity goes through you. Screw feelings, screw romance, screw love, screw it all. You’re an FBI profiler. You’re better than some idiot who thinks he can take you out to dinner and flirt up a storm, only to throw it back in your face.

You’re not going to let this get to you. Screw him.

So, you get dressed in your best outfit, and you take the time to do what makes you feel the most badass. Normally, you don’t put a ton of effort into your appearance because there isn’t much of a point. But on days like today when you need an extra boost of confidence, it’s almost required.

And boost your confidence, it does.

“ _Hell-o_ Agent L/N,” Emily teases when she emerges from the bathroom. “You look hot.”

“You sound like Morgan,” you say with a grin. “But thank you all the same. Is it bad that I feel hot when we’re supposed to be hunting down a serial killer?”

“Nope,” JJ shakes her head. “Sometimes it helps it feel more like a movie than real life.”

“God knows I need that right now,” you mutter, turning to grab your gun. As you’re busy strapping it on and grabbing your phone, you say, “Hey guys, if Hotch and I are acting weird…don’t mention it. Please?”

Emily’s head whips around. “Is he why you came in here crying last night?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, adjusting your belt. “But it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m over it.” You look up with a smile that you hope is more convincing than it feels. “Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

“Crash anytime,” JJ smiles back, all knowing. “And we want details later, just saying.”

“I knew you were going to ask,” you groan. “But it’s honestly nothing. I misread the entire situation, so it’s totally my bad.”

“Misread the situation?” Emily almost laughs at you. “The two of you were going on dates!”

Your eyes widen. “How did you–”

“I may or may not have seen you guys in a restaurant as I was walking by,” she confesses. “And I may or may not have gone back the next few nights to see if it was just a one-time deal.”

“You– Oh my _God_ ,” you nearly smack your forehead in embarrassment. “Okay, well, yes, we were going to dinner, but it– Look, I guess I got too caught up in my own feelings and worked it up in my head to think he felt the same.”

JJ shares a look with Emily. The kind that makes you want to claw your eyes out.

“Look,” Emily says, gently, but you know she’s serious. “You’re one of the best profilers on this team– You wouldn’t be on the team if you weren’t good. So there’s no such thing as making it up in your head. You were following your instincts.”

“Maybe my instincts are shit.”

“The last few cases say otherwise,” Emily fires back, raising an eyebrow.

She’s right. Dammit.

“I don’t think you misread anything, I think Hotch is just…complicated, you know? Divorce can’t be easy, especially with a kid in the mix, but I’m not excusing him for taking you on dates and staying over at your place, he should’ve known better– and don’t ask how I knew about him being at your place. JJ told me what you said on the phone, and I told her about the dinners, and we kind of just…figured.”

“Nothing happened,” you mumble, as if you need to tell them the details. “He slept on the couch. Passed out before me.”

“All I’m saying is you have a right to be mad,” Emily finishes.

JJ nods. “I would also be pissed. I’m a little pissed _for_ you.”

“Me too,” Emily agrees.

“I feel stupid,” you admit. “Like I’m in high school or something.” You won’t lie. Hotch’s comment last night has hurt you more than you thought it would. You didn’t even act like you were a high schooler when you were in high school, but still.

“Oh, no,” Emily sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s not high school. It’s just fucking annoying.”

“You got that right,” you snicker.

“So…” JJ raises an eyebrow. “Are we gonna talk about you dressing this hot to make him jealous or…?”

“It’s actually just for me,” you say firmly, meaning it. “But if he wants to look, he can.”

“Atta girl,” Emily laughs loudly, then stops. “We probably should head down to the lobby.”

“Right,” you chuckle. “Don’t wanna be late.”

+++

Hotch is the first one down to the lobby until Rossi joins him, looking the most well-rested. But upon seeing you’re not with Hotch, Rossi furrows his eyebrows.

It wasn’t exactly Rossi’s plan to stick the two of you together last night, but he did help it along. The two of you really need to work your issues out and he thought being forced into a hotel room would help. Unfortunately, now he’s seeing it might’ve done the opposite.

“Where’s Y/N?”

Hotch looks up at the sound of your name, cursing his own behavior, knowing Rossi is taking note of every little thing. “She’s with JJ and Emily.”

Rossi hums. “I thought she would’ve been with you.”

“She was.”

“What happened?”

Hotch shrugs. And Rossi’s face softens. Hotch looks strangely like he did all those years ago, new to the BAU, when he and Haley had an argument about his taking the job. They worked through it, thankfully, because Rossi would’ve lost it if he saw Hotch walk around the office looking like a kicked puppy for another day.

But now, he looks worse than that. Forget kicked puppy, Hotch looks like he was _run over._

“We had an argument,” Hotch explains when he sees that Rossi hasn’t stopped looking at him, expectantly waiting for more information.

Rossi nods slowly, having figured that. “Have you apologized?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“You could’ve texted her,” Rossi offers, a little surprised that Hotch didn’t.

Hotch stays silent. He could have texted you. He knows he probably should have. But his words had already done enough damage. He figured if he tried to say anything else, it would’ve only made things monumentally worse. So, he went to sleep early. And dreamt of you.

It’s getting out of hand, now that he’s dreaming about you. He doesn’t normally dream, and when he does, they’re nightmares. But even those are rare. He’s mastered the art of shoving everything so far down that nothing appears even in his dreams.

Except you.

About this time is when Hotch hears your laughter floating out of the elevator. His head instinctively turns toward the sound, finding you with JJ, Emily, Spencer, and Morgan.

Morgan must’ve said something to make you laugh so loud, especially for it to make you shove his face, causing him to wrap an arm around your shoulders, dragging you into his chest and daring to rub his knuckles into your head, but he doesn’t. Still, your smile lights up your entire face, and Hotch has to catch himself before he starts smiling, too.

“Alright, children,” JJ says, tugging you and Morgan off the elevator by Morgan’s shirt sleeve.

“He started it,” you whine, ready to smack Morgan for wrinkling your shirt, but he jumps out of the way before you can.

“I know he did,” JJ replies, still in her ‘mom’ voice, her hand on your arm to usher you forward.

“Ouch,” Morgan feigns hurt, sauntering away with a scrunched up face. “I see what sides we’re takin’.”

You roll your eyes. “So dramatic.”

Emily gives you a look as you slowly approach Rossi and Hotch. But you flash her a smile, letting her know you’re okay.

You’re a professional. You’re a damn FBI Agent. You can handle some unreciprocated feelings. Unrequited love has nothing on a psychopathic killer.

Thankfully, before you’re forced to greet Hotch so no one else questions things, his phone starts ringing. You all know what that means.

And Hotch confirms your suspicions when he hangs up. “There’s been another murder.”

+++

JJ and Reid headed to the police station to start connecting some more dots with this new murder – Edward Richardson is his name. He’s about the same age as the other men, but so far that’s the only connection.

This left you with Morgan and Rossi to head to the crime scene. Hotch and Emily are coming too, but they’re going to speak to the ex-girlfriend who found Edward.

 _Yeah_. His ex-girlfriend found him. Apparently she was coming over to pick up the rest of her stuff. He wasn’t answering the door, so she used the spare key under the mat and went inside, thinking he was either passed out or in someone else’s bed.

She found him in his bed. But he wasn’t alive.

Upon pulling up outside the house, you see it’s not a mansion, but not a trailer, either. Police are already milling about, but hopefully they haven’t touched anything.

You spot the ex-girlfriend when you get out of the car. Her long, dark hair is pulled back from her face, and there’s tear-stains all down her cheeks. You’re positive she’s not the unsub, though, because the unsub wouldn’t insert herself into the investigation like this, and if she did, she definitely wouldn’t show this much remorse.

Your heart aches for the ex all the same. And for that reason, you grab Emily and ask to switch with her.

“You sure?” She asks, knowing this means you’ll be with Hotch.

But you could care less about him right now. “Yeah. I got this. I also don’t think I should look at another body.” That part is true, even if you thought of it just a few seconds ago.

She understands completely, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before she sets off to join Morgan. Hotch watches her go and then looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed. But you don’t give him a second glance.

You both start toward the ex-girlfriend, but you see her tense up when she notices Hotch, which stops you right in your tracks. You hold out your hand to get his attention.

Turning, you say, “I think I need to do this alone.”

“Why?”

“She’s terrified, Hotch, look at her,” you whisper, watching him use his peripheral vision. “She tensed up when she saw you. I don’t know why, but…let me do this alone. Please.”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll be inside.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, glad he’s not going to put up a fight. The last thing you needed was for him to cause a scene here.

Once he’s gone, you turn back to the ex-girlfriend, putting on the best comforting expression you can muster.

“Hey,” you murmur as you’re close enough. “I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the FBI.”

“Jane,” she supplies. “Where’d your partner go?”

“Oh, he just went inside. I told him we could just talk, girl to girl, you know.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, he’s just my boss,” you say slowly, not sure why she’d even need to ask that.

“Sorry,” Jane apologizes, explaining your previous confusion away. “I’m not– I feel like I’m living in a nightmare right now, so my brain is kind of fried. I’m glad it’s just you.”

“Totally understandable,” you say. “So, you’re Edward’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I um– We just broke up last week and I hadn’t been over to get all my stuff yet. I was coming to pick the last of it up this morning. I texted him yesterday and he said it was fine, so I didn’t think to call before I came. I just walked in.”

“Why did you guys break up, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I…found out something he had done,” she says vaguely. “That he kept from me.”

You nod slowly. “I know it’s a lot, and I know you don’t know me, but…what did he do?”

She hesitates, closes her eyes. Her bottom lip starts to quiver, her eyes glassy when she opens them again. “He…he raped my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, letting her cry. “When did this happen?”

“Last year,” Jane mutters, anger taking over. “She never told me because she was scared and because he and I had been dating already when it happened and– He asked me to marry him and I told her and she– She told me what happened. She said she didn’t want him to do that to me, or worse.”

“So you broke up with him.”

“I confronted him about it and he denied it,” she says through more tears. “But my best friend wouldn’t lie. And he didn’t even seem _sorry_ or even _care_ that that happened to her, so I know he did it.” She pauses, shaking her head. “What does the FBI want with this, anyway?”

“There’s been a series of murders,” you explain. “And each victim has been a rapist that was acquitted or given a short sentence in jail, like two months, a vacation, basically.”

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Lily never took Edward to court.”

A break in the pattern. “What?”

“She never even told me until last week. I don’t even know if her mom knows, or her sister,” Jane says, still confused. “How did they even know to kill him?”

You’re asking yourself that question now, too. “Can you give me Lily’s full name and any contact information you have?”

“Yeah,” Jane nods. “You don’t think she did this, do you?”

To put her mind at ease, you ask, “What does she look like? And how tall is she?”

“She’s almost six feet tall, but wears heels to be taller,” Jane chuckles. “Blonde hair, naturally, not like some of these bleach blondes out here. She’s getting her master’s right now, if that means anything.”

“It does, actually,” you smile softly. “Just between you and me, I don’t think she’s the one that did this. We build a profile that’s a set of characteristics of who we’re looking for, and she doesn’t fit it.”

“Thank God,” Jane breathes. “I don’t think she would, but she’s– You’re different, after that, you know?”

You nod solemnly. “I know.”

After taking down Lily’s contact information, you ask her if she knows anyone that might fit the profile.

“I can’t think of anyone, honestly,” Jane shrugs. “I mean, I know probably fifty girls that look like that, but that are capable of this? I don’t even want to think that anyone I know would kill someone – even if they are a rapist.”

“I understand.”

After you grab Jane’s phone number as well, you head into the house to find Hotch. Or Rossi. You’d rather relay this information to Rossi and get away before Hotch spots you.

But you never get what you want because Hotch is the first one you see, and he’s just looking around idly, no gloves on his hands, clearly waiting for you to be finished.

Upon seeing you, his eyebrows raise, and he steps closer. “What did you find?”

“Well, for starters, Edward’s survivor didn’t take him to court,” you break that news first. “It was Jane’s best friend, so she gave me contact info and her address. But Jane said Lily is blonde, almost six feet, working on a master’s degree, so I don’t think she’s our unsub.”

“No, but we should still talk to her,” Hotch says.

“We?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“If you want to take–”

“No, it’s fine, sorry,” you say, gesturing generally to the house. “They’re busy. We should talk to Lily as soon as we can.”

“Agreed. I’ll go let them know.”

“I’ll be in the car,” you say with a nod.

The professionalism is going to absolutely drive you insane.

To distract yourself, you dial Garcia. “Garcia?”

“What do you need, babe?”

“I need you to get everything you can on this new victim. Edward Richardson. Did he have any criminal records at all?” You pause. “His ex-girlfriend told me that he raped her best friend, Lily, but Lily never took him to court over it.”

“I will dig up everything I can on him.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted. Hotch and I are about to go talk to Lily.”

Garcia is quiet for a moment. “You and Hotch?”

“Yes,” you mutter. “The ship has sailed, Garcia.”

“I didn’t even mention a ship.”

“No, but I knew you were going to,” you chuckle, jumping in the car. “It has sailed far, far away, never to be seen again.” You lean your head back on the headrest, glancing over to check and see if Hotch is coming yet.

“If you say so…”

“Goodbye, Garcia.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

Must everyone be in your business? Shaking your head, you pocket your phone, sticking the key in the ignition.

Hotch makes it to the car a few moments later, silently getting inside and buckling up. You expected at least a look since you’re driving, but there was nothing.

There never was anything.

You take a deep breath and pull out onto the main road, following the GPS toward Lily’s apartment. Jane said she should be in right now, so you’re hoping she is.

The car ride is fifteen minutes of dead silence. A few times, you nearly let your word vomit spill. Just questions. You have probably a thousand questions, maybe more.

If it was _just_ dinner, then why did he keep paying? Why did he drive? Why did he check your apartment? Why did he say yes to wine? Why did he stay the night?

If it was _just_ dinner, then why does he look at you like that? Why does he say those things?

If it was just dinner, that’s fine, but God, you need to know.

Lily’s apartment complex approaches before you foolishly start asking Hotch anything.

“I’m assuming I’m taking the lead again,” you say as you park the car.

Hotch nods. “Sure.”

“Okay,” you reply, hopping out.

Hotch keeps his distance as you walk up to Lily’s door. You knock a few times, not wanting to scream, “FBI!” because chances are, she didn’t report because she has issues with trusting authority. You understand.

Sure enough, after a moment or two, the door is opening, revealing Lily. Jane’s description was spot on.

She’s definitely six feet tall. She is a natural dirty blonde, and it’s pulled back in a ponytail. Glasses rest on the bridge of her nose, and she looks to be in her clothes for class – a sweatshirt and jeans.

“Lily Hampton?” You ask.

She nods. “May I help you?”

“I’m Agent Y/N L/N, this is Agent Hotchner. We’re with the FBI. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “About what?”

“Well, we’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area,” you start, watching her eyes for anything. There’s nothing. “And this morning, Edward Richardson was found dead.”

You hate and love what you see in her eyes. It’s the same as Abby’s. Fear, sadness, relief, guilt, all at once.

“What happened?” She finally says. Then pauses, opening the door further, “Uh, come inside, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you murmur, stepping inside. Hotch follows close behind, and you see he’s making a conscious effort to keep his expression softened.

“Please, sit,” Lily motions to the couch as she takes the chair by the window.

“Thank you,” you say, taking a seat on the couch. Hotch sits next to you, but on the other end. You continue. “These murders have been of rapists who were either acquitted, dismissed, or given incredibly short sentences,” you pause. “I spoke with Jane earlier and she informed me that you never took Edward to court.”

Lily shakes her head, otherwise sitting dangerously still. “I was too scared. Didn’t think it was worth it, anyway. He was dating Jane, I didn’t wanna ruin both of their lives.”

“I understand,” you whisper. “Can you think of anyone besides Jane that you’ve told about this?”

Lily thinks for a moment. “My therapist and my mom.”

“Who is your therapist?” You ask.

“Her name is Dr. Harris, I can get you her phone number.”

“That would be perfect,” you smile gently.

Lily stands and excuses herself to find the number, leaving you alone with Hotch once more.

“What are you thinking?” You ask, wanting to know what’s going on in his head.

“Her mom doesn’t fit our profile, and unless her therapist broke confidentiality…” Hotch shrugs.

You nod. “We’re at another dead end.”

Lily returns with a small piece of paper, but there’s two numbers written down. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at it, until she explains.

“The top is my therapist and the bottom is um–” She glances at Hotch. “There’s a group that I went to– That I go to, um– It’s kind of like alcoholics anonymous, but not for alcohol. It’s…for assault. The number is the woman who runs it. Lina.”

This could be it. “Thank you, Lily,” you smile, tucking the paper in your pocket. “I think that’s all we have.” You pause to stand, holding out your card. “But if you think of anything that might be useful, don’t hesitate to call.”

She takes the card with a small smile. “Thank you.”

You show yourselves out, both of you waiting until you’re in the car to say anything. Hotch is driving this time.

“I’m calling Morgan,” you tell him, dialing on your phone. Once it connects, you say, “Feel like going to an AA meeting?”


	14. Everyone looked worse in the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some more angst!

“This is a real thing?” 

You shrug, sipping your coffee. “Lily said it was. Worth checking out.”

Morgan sits at the wheel now, still looking skeptical. “I don’t know. AA meetings are anonymous, so they’re usually dead ends.”

“Yeah, but our unsub had to have found out that it was Edward who hurt Lily somehow.”

“What about the therapist?”

“Reid and Emily went to talk to her.”

“Yeah, I know that, I was there,” Morgan smirks. “I meant, she could’ve told someone. A friend, a partner, maybe?”

“They’re not supposed to talk about patients, not with names and anything identifiable, at least.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t.”

“Alright, if you don’t wanna work with me, just say it.”

“Hey, I never said that,” Morgan protests. “Why’d you ask me to come along, anyway? You and Hotch were already out.”

You shrug. “Maybe I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, kiddo,” Morgan chuckles, one hand leaving the steering wheel to punch your shoulder. “You sure there’s not something else going on in that head of yours?”

You sigh. Maybe there is. But it’s partly about Hotch, and you’re definitely not talking to Morgan about that. But it’s not all Hotch. You can’t blame your mood on last night’s argument, no matter how hard you try. Morgan sees right through you and you know it.

“Come on,” Morgan pushes. “We’ve got another twenty minutes, don’t make me drive slow.”

You shove his arm with a small laugh. “Asshole.”

“I’m just tryna get you to talk to me,” he counters. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” you exhale, shaking your head. “Everything just feels different since the last case.”

“How so?”

“I feel like everyone thinks I’m gonna...break into a million pieces,” you chuckle darkly. “I mean, if they looked close enough, they’d see I did that years ago. I’m not gonna do it again. I’m fine.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

You glare at him, but it dissolves. “Yeah, I know…”

“It’s okay, you know,” he starts. “That you’re not fine. It’s one thing to go through it, but to have the people in your life know…” He shakes his head. “Even though they say they don’t look at you differently, they do.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, hesitating before you ask the one question that’s been on your mind for a week. “Did it ever...happen to you?”

It takes him a moment, but he nods. “When I was a kid.”

“Damn,” you say, knowing he’s probably as tired of hearing sorry as you are. “So you get it.”

“More than you know, kid,” he says quietly. “But hey, we’re not talking about me. How are you? Really?”

“Just wanna find this unsub,” you say, knowing you’re deflecting. “I’m...it’s bad, but I mean, I’m not exactly torn up that some rapists are dying. This unsub is hurting, though. I can feel it.”

“We’ll find her,” Morgan says, and it sounds like a promise. “In the meantime, though, you’re doing your best, you know that?”

“Thanks,” you smile. “You’re doing your best, too, you know.”

“Aw, shucks,” he laughs. “You’re makin’ me blush.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost give yourself a headache.

+++

The address that Lily gave you takes you and Morgan to what looks like a bit of a run down recreation center. There’s not much on the outside signage wise, and only two cars parked out front.  
You and Morgan head inside, eyes searching for anyone, and eventually you see a woman walking up the hallway.

She spots the two of you first and says, “What can I help you with?” Her tone is protective and a touch hostile, but you know why, so you pay no mind.

“I’m Agent Y/N L/N and this is Agent Morgan, we’re with the FBI.” You pause to let the woman look at your badges before putting them away again. “Are you Lina?”

She nods slowly. “I am. What’s this about?”

“We’re investigating a series of murders,” Morgan begins.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Lina asks.

You sigh. “I just spoke with Lily Hampton. She said she attends a meeting here for survivors of assault.”

Lina nods, relaxing slightly. “I know her. She’s a sweet girl.”

You smile. “She is. Her rapist was just murdered sometime early this morning. She said the only people who knew were her therapist, her mom, and she spoke to this group about it.”

Lina nods again. “She did. But one of the rules here is that we don’t give out any names. Those that speak don’t even have to give their name if they don’t want to. Safety precaution, and all.”

“I understand,” you assure her. “We believe the woman responsible for these killings might’ve found out about Lily’s rapist through this meeting.”

Slowly, Lina begins to understand. “I can try to help, but a lot of women walk through my doors.”

“We know it’s not much,” you pause, unfolding the picture of the unsub. You had JJ print it for you before you left. “But do you recognize this woman at all? There isn’t a clear shot of her face, but the outfit? Does anything seem familiar?”

Lina sighs, reaching for the paper. She holds it closer, eyebrows furrowing as she scans it. “I honestly can’t say,” she exhales. “I’m better with faces than I am anything else.”

“I understand,” you murmur, deflating. 

“This woman would’ve been confident,” Morgan begins, trying to jog her memory this way. “She might’ve shared her story and seemed to be on the other side of it. Might’ve even talked about wanting revenge.”

“That’s almost everyone,” Lina snorts. “It’s not uncommon to get women talking about wanting to go after their attackers. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“We understand that,” you say. “But she might’ve been more insistent about it than others. Wouldn’t let it go when the conversation moved on. She might’ve been the one to bring it up most often, or when it has passed, she’d try bringing it back around.”

Lina thinks for a moment. “That is reminding me of one woman…”

You share a look with Morgan.

“We don’t keep any records of names, so I have no clue who she is, but she came...last week, I think. She’ll come and go, you know. The first time was...probably eight or nine months ago. I thought nothing of her, she seemed pretty quiet, about the same as the rest of them. But after the third meeting, I did have to say something to her.”

“Did she do something?” Morgan asks.

Lina shakes her head. “No, but we had an issue a year or two ago with some creeps wanting to sit in on meetings, but not speak. It was a couple guys who probably thought they could use this space as a dating pool. We had to stop publicly advertising after that, so now it’s just invite only, and exclusively females, unless they come to me directly about a guy joining -- but there’s only been one, and he’s gone now.” She waves her hand, getting back on track. “Anyway, this girl hadn’t said anything, and I was concerned, but I also wanted her to know that is a place to share experiences and work through them. I won’t force anyone to speak, but what’s the point of coming to a meeting if you aren’t going to talk, you know?”

You nod, letting her continue.

“She seemed timid, but she shared her story with me, and by the next meeting, she shared a little bit of it with everyone. She almost instantly was out of her shell. And after another month or two, she was dressing more bold and speaking louder and she just...seemed different, but not in a way that concerned me -- though I guess I should’ve been concerned.”

“Not necessarily,” you shrug. “Would you mind if my partner and I came to tonight’s meeting?”

Lina nods to you, but then looks to Morgan. Even though he’s an FBI agent, you can tell she’s skeptical after the last incident.

Gently, he says, “I was a kid. I get it.”

A solemn look crosses Lina’s face, but then she nods. “That’s okay. If I see her again, I’ll point her out to you.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” you smile. “When does the meeting start?”

She checks her watch. “There’s one happening in thirty minutes, if you want to stay. It’s not as dense as the evening one, but it’s timed so they can come on their lunch hour.”

“That’s awesome, we’ll stay,” you say after confirming with Morgan.

“Alright, well, if you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the room where we have it,” she gestures down the hall.

“Is there anything we can help set up?” You ask, following behind her.

Morgan follows too, pressing his phone to his ear and mouthing, “Hotch.” Letting him know you’re staying for the meeting, you’re sure.

Lina leads you to a smaller room toward the back. Chairs are stacked against the wall, so you begin helping her take them down and set them out.

“We usually have about ten or fifteen in the lunch session,” she says. “So just these three stacks should be enough. Oh, we sit in a circle.”

“Gotcha,” you nod, shifting them around. “This is really amazing that you do this,” you say, having meant to say it for the past fifteen minutes. “I know a lot of women really benefit from this type of thing.”

She smiles softly. “It’s something I wish I would’ve had when I was struggling. I went to therapy after a while, and told my friends after a while longer, but it wasn’t the same.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “I didn’t tell anyone for months after it happened to me. And when I did, I only told my mom.” You pause. “I was nineteen and he was my fiance.”

“Oh, honey,” Lina sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

Somehow, you don’t hate hearing that this time around. Maybe it’s because you know hers is genuine, and she’s not pitying you. She’s sympathizing. “Thank you. How old were you when… If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she smiles. “I was twenty, so it’s been...twenty-five years now. Still feels like yesterday.”

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “It’s something you just don’t forget, huh?”

“No, but you learn to live with it, and you learn to cope and...it gets easier. I hope it gets easier for you soon.”

“Me too,” you whisper, turning your head to blink the tears away.

+++

Back at the police precinct, Rossi waits until he has a moment alone with Hotch before asking about you.

“Did you apologize?” Dave says, getting straight to the point.

Aaron looks up from the file in front of him. “No,” he says, averting his eyes. “We didn’t talk about it.”

“What did you talk about?”

“The case,” Hotch says firmly, losing patience. “We talked about the case because we need to find this unsub.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Rossi starts, “but we’re doing all we can right now. So, while they’re out, you can talk to me about why you’re fighting this so hard.”

“Fighting what?”

“Don’t act stupid with me, Aaron,” Dave scolds, but it’s gentle. “What was the argument about?”

After Aaron recounts everything to Dave, though, Dave wants to smack him.

“So you lied,” Dave concludes, trying not to be angry. “Why?”

“Do we really need to talk about this?” Hotch asks, already beginning to bury himself in the case file again. 

He doesn’t like feeling this small, this vulnerable, at least not like this. When he’s with you, it’s different. He’s vulnerable, but not small. You feel small compared to him, but that’s just what he loves: getting to hold you and protect you. With Rossi it’s so much different. Rossi knows Hotch better than Hotch knows himself -- and that’s frightening. Especially when Rossi can see right through everything. Hotch can’t hide.

“I think you need to tell her the truth,” Dave says, ignoring the fact that Aaron won’t look at him. He doesn’t need Aaron to look at him to know he’s listening.

“How can I do that after what I said last night?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Dave shrugs. “She can’t fool me either, you know. If you ask her to talk, she’ll say yes.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Aaron sighs, finally looking up from the file. “She won’t want to be in the same room as me.”

“She seemed just fine earlier.”

“Yes, but we were working,” Aaron argues.

“Sounds like excuses to me,” Dave raises his eyebrows. “You both need to talk about this, Aaron. You’re not yourselves right now.”

The worst part is, Aaron knows Dave is right. He always is.

+++

After the afternoon session, you and Morgan leave and head back to the precinct, promising Lina that you’ll return in a few hours for the evening session.

Lina was right, the afternoon session was fairly sparse. Only around ten women showed up, and only half that talked in great lengths. You shared a small bit of your story when one woman spoke up about it being her (now ex) husband that had raped her. You wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, even if you weren’t married to Trevor yet when it happened.

Lina also let you speak briefly to the women about the murders you’re investigating, but they all said they didn’t have anyone come to mind. A few left with your and Morgan’s business cards, but you don’t expect a call.

No one looked suspicious during the meeting either, so you and Morgan came to the conclusion that the unsub was not at this session. But hopefully, she’ll be there this evening, or someone will know who you’re talking about.

Wishful thinking.

Hotch and Rossi are acting...weirder than normal. Especially Rossi, but you ignore it and focus on helping Reid with the map.

You don’t have near enough brainpower to do these maps on your own like he does, but you enjoy helping where you can, or just listening to him ramble. Believe it or not, the kid has some pretty interesting things to say. So, when he has the time to ramble on, you let him.

You feel someone’s eyes on your back, though, and after a few moments of the feeling, you turn to find the source.

You’re more than surprised (are you really, though?) to see that the eyes belong to Hotch.

He doesn’t move when your eyes lock with his, though. You had expected him to look away quickly, or turn the other direction, but he doesn’t.

You offer a simple nod before turning back to the map, feeling your palms beginning to sweat.

It’s not fair that he gets to look that good all the time. Especially when you’re supposed to be mad at him.


	15. Makes me wanna know that body like it's mine0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut smut smut! Rough sex, angry sex, all that good stuff ;))

The evening session is also a bust.

There were more women -- about twenty this time -- so more shared their stories as well. Because of that, it lasted much longer. 

At the end of it, Morgan gave the speech this time about the murders you’re investigating, and you both offered your business cards to everyone as they left. Only a few refused, but in hindsight you’re glad because you ran out of cards.

But again, you don’t expect any calls. The description didn’t appear to ring any useful bells in anyone’s heads.

So, feeling only slightly defeated, you and Morgan head back to the hotel. The team has gone to get some rest for the night, which you’re not opposed to. It’s been another long, long day.

Not long enough for Morgan to not mess with you, though. The two of you are taking turns lightly sparring in the elevator, freezing when the doors open in case someone is on the other side, but no one is.

“Alright, alright, truce,” Morgan finally caves, holding up both hands in surrender.

“Damn,” you laugh. “Fine. _Truce_.” You half expect him to break the truce like the trickster he is, but he doesn’t this time.

Then, almost as if your supervisor had been waiting for you, the door to Hotch’s room opens, and the man that is always on your mind steps out. He’s still in his dress shirt and pants, but no tie or shoes. It’s a strange sight, one that nearly gives you cottonmouth. 

It’s that domesticity again, only this time it’s completely catching you off guard. Not to mention, you’re supposed to be mad at him still.

You and Derek stop walking, noticing the movement. Derek is the one to speak up. “Hotch? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to ask how it went,” he says, answering Derek, but his eyes are locked on you. 

“Good,” you answer him. “We didn’t notice anything fishy, though. Lina said she’d call us if she thinks of anything. And that we’re welcome to keep attending if we need to.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Morgan shrugs. “At least until we catch the unsub. We can take turns.”

Hotch nods. “Agreed. We can tell the rest of the team tomorrow.” He pauses, words getting caught in his throat again. But he can’t exactly say anything to you with Morgan standing there -- at least, not anything he really needs to say.

He’s not sure if Morgan sensed this, but regardless, he makes his departure. 

“Well, I’m beat,” Morgan says, punching your shoulder gently. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night,” you chuckle, shoving him back. 

“Night Hotch,” Morgan calls out, already walking down the hall to his room.

Hotch merely nods, his eyes finding yours once more. You’re not even sure why you’re still standing here. Morgan is probably suspicious as hell because Emily and JJ’s room is down the hall near his and Spencer’s, yet here you stand. Staring at your supervisor.

Is he even going to say anything? _Are you?_

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Hotch asks finally, then pauses, adding a soft, “Please.”

You’re relieved, on one hand, but on the other, something tells you he’s just going to apologize, tell you how unprofessional this is, and send you on your way. 

You think you’d rather just be mad at him. It’s easier.

But, because he’s looking at you so softly, you enter the room, sighing when he shuts the door. 

You lift your head when he stands in front of you, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking strangely small. You’ve never seen him like this.

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask, a hint of frustration seeping through. 

You can’t help it. You _are_ frustrated that you’re having to start the conversation. You _are_ frustrated that this is a conversation that even needs to be had. 

You just want to kiss him. Forget conversation. You don’t want to hear it if he’s just going to tell you how unprofessional the two of you being together is. You already know that. Him saying it to you won’t change it _or_ your feelings.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says. “It was wrong of me to say what I said yesterday—”

“What part?”

“What?”

“What part was wrong?” You press further, your voice growing more demanding by the second. 

“I shouldn’t have made the comment about you needing to act like an adult,” he replies slowly. “You are an adult, and a necessary member of this team. I shouldn’t have undermined you in the way that I did.”

Still no apology for _good girl_ or _brat_ or _yes, what?_

You’re probably reading too far into it, but you’re done with not knowing. “And?”

Hotch stares you down. “And what?”

“Is there anything else you want to apologize for?” _Because if you don’t want to apologize, I’m going to jump you. Right now._

He almost looks like he’s catching on, but you can’t be sure. “No. There’s not.”

So he doesn’t really regret it. That’s the best news you’ve gotten all damn day.

“Okay,” you pause, hesitating, not sure when the right moment will be because you’re not usually in this position.

And he’s hesitating too, but he starts to fill the silence again, this time with, “Thank you for how patient you have been—”

But he doesn’t get to finish. You’ve had it. This is the breaking point. _Tonight_ is the breaking point. _I need to get this out of my system_.

“Okay, you know what? I’m sick of this,” you interrupt him loudly, crossing your arms over your chest dramatically. You’re putting every ounce of energy you have into being a brat, and if this doesn’t work, then he’s fucking dumb -- and so are you for falling for him.

He stops talking, his gaze hardening, and you swear he physically grows taller. Just the look he’s giving you has you nearly breaking out in a sweat. 

“Excuse me?” He says, voice dangerously low. 

“I’m _sick_ of this,” you repeat, keeping eye contact, and fuck, your knees are already shaking. “Just kiss me.”

He’s walking closer as you say it, and damn, his steps don’t falter for one single second. He’s a predator stalking his prey, closing in, and damn, you want this so bad. 

He stands painfully still, staring down at you in a way that has your body growing hotter by the second. Your nerve endings are on fucking fire.

But he needs one more push. You can tell. 

So, with as much brattiness as you’ve ever known, you say, “Are you going to kiss me, or do I need to go find Morgan?”

It happens in a flash. You’re turned and your back is shoved against the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of your lungs, and Hotch steals it right out of your mouth when he finally kisses you. 

You’ve never been kissed so fiercely, with so much demand, and you nearly cry in relief. _Finally_.

He bites your bottom lip and you open up for him immediately, maybe a little too quickly, but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting a literal year for this. When his fingers practically rip the buttons of your shirt, your shirt hits the floor and it’s like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

He commands you with every fiber in his being, and when your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, desperately needing something to hold onto, he smacks them away. 

“Aaron,” you whine, struggling against his arms that are blocking you. “Aaron, _please_ \--”

“Stop,” he growls, nipping your bottom lip, rougher this time, causing a squeak to leave your mouth. He grabs both of your hands and presses them together, holding them above your head with one of his hands. “Don’t move.”

 _Big mistake_ , you think, as his hand leaves your wrists. 

You entertain him for a moment, too lost in the way he’s devouring you, tongue slipping inside your mouth and memorizing every inch, hips pressed into yours, grinding like he’s a horny teenager, and yet you’re loving it.

Slowly, you bend your elbows, but your smirk gives you away, because he pulls back, ceasing his kisses and stopping his hips, only keeping them pressed to yours to keep you from moving. You open your eyes to find he’s raising an eyebrow. 

“What did I say?”

“I can’t remember,” you say softly, wondering how far he’ll need to be pushed. How far is too far?

Why do you want to find out?

He smooths his hands back up your arms, pressing your wrists together and against the wall once more. “ _Don’t move_.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock, holding back a grin, arching your back so far that your breasts nearly touch his shirt.

_That does it._

“Do you think this is funny?”

“Oh, no,” you say, dramatic serious expression and all, tipping your chin upwards and dropping your chest. “I think it’s _hysterical_.” Your smirk morphs into a full-blown grin, and he looks ready to eat you. 

You desperately want him to. 

You’re barely able to give that a moment’s thought before you’re being turned around and shoved back into the wall. Your head turns at the last moment to avoid breaking your nose, both your hands spread on each side of your shoulders to brace yourself. _Goddamn_. You smirk into the wall. He should’ve done that months ago.

Hotch presses his body into yours and you feel _every_ inch of him. “I knew you were a brat, but you’re borderline disrespectful tonight.”

“It’s my specialty— _Shit!_ ” Your remark is cut short by Hotch’s teeth sinking into the skin just above your shoulder, causing your nails to scratch at the wall, no doubt leaving marks on the paint.

“Did I say you could speak? No.” He soothes the spot with his tongue, peppering a few kisses around the area. “You should behave. Wouldn’t want you to have to explain what all these marks are in the morning.”

The thought — just the mere thought of being covered in marks made by him has your thighs clenching and head spinning. 

And damn him, he notices. 

A low chuckle echoes through the room, the vibrations from his chest sprinkling across your back like electricity.

But he changes the subject entirely. “Stay still.”

He leaves you and you nearly whine aloud from the sudden cold, but you catch yourself. And you don’t dare move. The thought of being marked is enticing, but you’d rather like to be able to sit down tomorrow. 

Your eyes remain closed until he returns, his fingers trailing your jaw. “Open your eyes.”

You obey instantly, meeting his gaze, and you’re surprised by how soft it is. 

“Are you okay?” He asks gently. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You almost laugh at his sincerity, but you just smile drunkenly. If you wanted him to be sweet right now, you wouldn’t have come in here acting like a brat and demanding that he kiss you. “Just fuck me already.”

His face darkens, and it wipes the smirk right off your lips. 

_Oh shit._

“ _Fuck_ you?” He replies, damn near menacingly. He leaves your line of eyesight to stand behind you again, but you’re positive he’s shaking his head at you. “Good girls get fucked. You haven’t been good, have you?” 

You shake your head, but you’re biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. Who knew Aaron Hotchner would be like this in the bedroom? You’ve fantasized-- dreamt about a night like this for a long time. 

Maybe your imagination isn’t so wild after all.

“Brats are used. And I plan to _use_ you all night.”

 _Dear God_. That brings you hurtling back to reality. _Please._

“Put your hands behind your back.”

 _Is he going to fucking cuff me?_ You think about that as you’re moving your hands, because you don’t dare delay your obedience right now. 

Your eyes slip closed as you feel the fabric of his tie wrapping around your wrists, knotting together. You tug once for good measure, a delighted hum leaving your lips at the pressure. 

A hum that earns you a prompt smack on your ass. 

“Should’ve known you’d enjoy this,” he sounds bitter. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Provoking me? You think this is a game.”

You’re a fan of the dirty talk as much as the next girl, but he’s so far away, moving too slow. You need him to touch you — and it hasn’t occurred to you yet that he’s depriving you intentionally. 

The most touch you receive is when he kicks your feet apart with his own. Roughly, he drags your pants down your legs, being sure to leave your underwear on your hips. 

“Step out,” he orders. You do, hearing his foot kick your pants away, probably somewhere with your shirt. This time when he presses himself into you, you’re very aware of how naked you are and how covered he is. His shirt is still on him, for God’s sake.

It’s not _fair_. 

“Do you understand how difficult it is not to punish you during the day for your smart mouth?” His hands smooth over your hips to your front, fingertips ghosting right over where you need him most. “Hm? Answer me.” He snaps the elastic on your underwear.

“No,” you murmur weakly, thighs threatening to close. “I don’t.”

“You’re right, you don’t,” he says, almost nonchalantly, and he takes his hands away.

You don’t have time to catch the whimper before it leaves your lips, and your eyes shoot open when you hear it. In a silent room, it was as loud as gunfire.

He’s turning you around and pushing you down to your knees before you can even think twice about any of it. 

“My eyes are up here.” His fingers grip your jaw tightly, tilting your head up, forcing your eyes away from the obvious tent in his pants. “Greedy girl.”

You’re going to soak the damn carpet before he even touches you. It’s embarrassingly hot. 

His fingers leave your chin to begin unbuttoning his pants, and your hands instinctively tug at the restraints. _I wanted to do that._ When he drags his zipper down, you swear you start drooling. If you don’t get his dick in your mouth in the next ten seconds, you might go fucking _feral_. 

His pants drop to the floor, and his underwear might as well have fallen, too. They’re struggling to keep him contained, and you swallow instinctively at the sight. Fuck.

Hotch sees this and chuckles darkly. “Aw, you want to suck me off, do you? Good for you. But tonight’s not about you.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you forward. Your knees burn and you absentmindedly thank the universe that you only packed pants this time. “Now be a good girl and open.”

Your jaw was already slackening before he even finished the sentence.

Your moan is obnoxiously loud as he fills your mouth. He wastes no time in shoving you all the way down, not that you expected nor want him to be gentle right now. 

“If you’re going to run your mouth all the time, I’m just going to fill it,” he groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “Shit. Of course you’re good at this.”

You’ve never had a gag reflex, but then again you’ve never had a dick as big as Aaron’s in your mouth. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, he only pulls you back long enough for you to breathe--

And just like that, he’s leaving your mouth. You blink through the tears, swallowing, clearing your throat, ready to _sob_ \--

“You’re making a mess,” he practically growls, fingers still threaded through your hair. “Did I say you could grind your pussy on your leg?”

Fuck. You didn’t even realize you were doing that, but the delicious friction you were feeling had to come from somewhere. And apparently somewhere is the now-soaked back of your calf.

“Answer me.” His fingers dig into the base of your skull, tilting your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his. There’s a blazing flame inside of his brown eyes, one you haven’t even seen in your dreams. 

Your imagination could never conjure an image that good.

“Dumb brat, are you already fucked stupid?”

_I was fucked stupid when you shoved me into the wall the first time._

His thumb strokes your cheek in a sudden burst of softness, wiping the tears away. You see the change come over his face. You know he’s always afraid of hurting those around him, but for once, you need him to not treat you like a glass doll.

So, you do exactly what he told you not to. You grind into your leg.

And it feels fucking good.

But barely for half a second. He yanks you to your feet by your hair, and you can’t help the absolutely lunatic grin that spreads your lips. He scoffs at you and shoves you toward the bed.

“You piss me off,” he says in a different tone than last night.

But it elicits the same response from you. “The feeling is--”

He promptly shoves a different tie in your mouth. “Shut up.”

_Holy fucking shit._

He shoves you again, this time causing you to fall face-first onto the bed. He manhandles you so you’re not suffocating yourself. But eventually, he pulls your hips up, keeping your face pressed down into the pillows. Distantly, you hear the rest of his clothes hitting the floor, but your head is spinning too much to care. _Just fuck me._

“Hear that? Peace and quiet.” He smooths his hands over your ass, electricity sparking every spot he touches. “It’s amazing how peaceful it is when a brat shuts her mouth.”

Dear God. He hasn’t even really touched you and your eyes are rolling back.

Speaking of touching you, your hips jolt forward when he unexpectedly presses his tongue flat against your clothed folds. The groan that leaves him is not human.

And when his lips leave your core, you can’t stop the whine that leaves you.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning over you, pressing his bare chest and bare everything against you, your hands squished against his toned abdomen, but you don’t mind. “I want to taste you too, baby, but you’ve been a brat.” His lips tickle your ear, teeth nipping your skin gently. “Only good girls get their pussy eaten by Daddy.”

Your eyes instantly shoot open, and you even feel him freeze for a moment. _Daddy_. Gladly. Any day. 

He moves your panties to the side and sinks one finger into you, all the way to his knuckles. They feel even better than you’ve imagined, and bigger, too. Just one has you feeling full, but he growls, adding another, stretching you out for him.

You’re grinding your hips again before you realize it, and his fingers leave your pussy immediately. His hands grip your hips tightly, stopping your movement, and no doubt leaving bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

“Did I say you could move? No. Now be still, or I’ll fuck your mouth until I cum and kick you out while you’re still swallowing. Understood?”

You nod your head weakly, and it’s the only part of your body that you move. He seems satisfied with this answer because he finally begins dragging your underwear down your legs. Until he fucking rips them off.

Your surprise is muffled by the tie in your mouth, but dammit, that was a nice pair.

“Oh, hush, little girl. I’ll buy you more if they were that dear to your heart.” You know he’s taunting you, but he sounds serious about buying you new underwear, and you can only hope he knows that you might take him up on it. “Now, for the love of God,” he lines himself up with your core, “be quiet.” 

He shoves himself fully inside you, practically splitting you in half in the most delicious way. Relief and pleasure all bloom in your core and moans spill from around the tie, the gag doing nothing to keep you quiet.

But he doesn’t mind. He’s letting it slide because _God_ , you feel better than he ever could’ve imagined. Hot and velvet, gripping him like you were meant to fit together.

You let him use you -- though it’s not like you have any other option, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your thighs are trembling and your entire body is on fire. It’s exactly what you’ve longed for, but better.

Until this point, he paid no mind to your orgasm and you assumed he had the rule that brats don’t get to cum. But when his thumb brushes your clit, you cum almost instantly, the pleasure having been building for the past year.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips faltering when your heat sucks him in deeper, refusing to let him go. You clench your muscles on purpose, chasing the exact feeling he is. You need it. If you didn’t have a damn tie in your mouth, you’d be _begging_ out loud for him to fill you.

A few more thrusts is all it takes for Aaron to lose himself completely. His hips stutter to a stop, his hand spread over your stomach, pressing your bodies together -- and then you feel him spilling inside the deepest part of you. Your toes curl, your eyes roll, relishing in the feeling you’ve longed for.

You’re not sure if you actually passed out or only drifted away, but when you’re blinking your eyes open again, the ties are gone from your mouth and wrists, and Aaron is brushing the hair out of your face. 

“There she is,” he whispers, a smile ghosting across his lips. “How are you doing?”

You’re aware now that he’s pulled the covers over your body, and you could honestly fall asleep right here if he’d let you. “Good.”

He chuckles, shaking your shoulder lightly. “Come on. You need to shower.”

You lift your head when you hear the water is already running. “You too?”

He nods. “Me too. I think I’ll have to hold you up.”

That makes you snort, but your legs do feel weak.

And he’s not wrong. When you try to stand, your knees are trembling so badly that you collapse right into his chest.

It shouldn’t feel as awkward as it does. You literally _just_ had sex with him. His cum is still seeping down your thighs. And you feel awkward?

You crack yourself up sometimes.

Aaron helps you into the shower, smiling like an idiot when you take a step too far backward and end up with water splashing right on your face. 

You expect some sarcastic remark from him, but one never comes. Instead, he waits until after you’ve shampooed and conditioned your hair, and he’s dragging the washcloth across your shoulders.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The question is so genuine and his voice is so soft. You lift your eyes from the shower tiles to meet his gaze. “No, you didn’t,” you murmur. “It was perfect. Exactly what I needed. And wanted.”

He smiles as he bends to kiss you again, hand cradling your jaw. 

He rinses the soap from your body and moves to begin washing himself, but you shake your head, taking the washcloth from him.

“What?”

“I wanna do it,” you say, lathering the soap. “Can I?”

He smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Of course.”

Slowly, you drag the washcloth across his shoulders and chest, unashamedly taking him in. Being fucked from behind has its perks when it comes to pleasure, but as for seeing him, it wasn’t the best. 

And you assume that was his whole point. Clever bastard.

After you finish with his front, you motion for him to turn around, snickering when he does so with a silly grin. His back muscles flex underneath your touch, making you gasp. You’re aware that to do this job, you have to be of a certain level of fitness, but jesus.

Once the soap is gone from both of your bodies, Aaron shuts off the water. He helps you step out, then holds up the towel, and you’re a little too giddy about him wrapping you up like a burrito.

But then, unfortunately, reality comes crashing back to you like a tidal wave.

“What’s wrong?” He notices the change in your demeanor almost instantly.

“My bag is in JJ and Emily’s room,” you say slowly, dragging your eyes up his body, to his face. 

_Fuck_. Did you seriously just have sex with your fucking boss?

“You can go get it in the morning, I’ll wake you up,” he says gently, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you okay?”

 _No. Not really. Not anymore._ “Um...yeah. Just, I think I should go now.” You brush past him to the room, bending down to grab your clothes from the floor. You’re reminded that he ripped your damn underwear and you cuss under your breath.

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to force you to stay if you don’t want to, but...he wants you to stay. “I wake up early, I can wake you up, too.” 

You turn your head as you’re buttoning your shirt. He’s leaning against the doorway, still in his towel, and damn if the sight doesn’t make you want to stay. _Forever_.

But you come to your senses quickly. “No, it’s okay.” You slip your feet into your shoes, grimacing at the wet hair on your shoulders. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The sound of the door closing echoes in Hotch’s mind.


	16. Daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of angst! Lots of sad thoughts, PTSD thoughts, and Reader talks a little more about being raped (so read with caution babes xx.)

You stand outside JJ and Emily’s room for what feels like ages. The extra keycard is clutched in your shaking hand.

_Did that really just happen?_

You wanted it. God, you’ve _wanted it_ for longer than a year. So why did you run?

_I don’t know, let’s list them! He’s got an ex-wife, he has a kid, oh, and did I mention he’s my fucking boss? I could be fired for this!_

Not your smartest move. Granted, all common sense leaves your body when Aaron Hotchner is in your general area. Comes with being in love, you suppose.

But this…this _fear_ inside of you, that shouldn’t come with being in love, right?

Well, maybe it does when you’re in love with someone you can’t have.

The bathroom is right inside the door. You just need to run inside, lock yourself in the bathroom, and pretend to take a shower. Or maybe actually take a shower. A _cold_ one.

Good plan.

You swipe the keycard, push the door open, and are scared shitless when you come face-to-face with JJ and Emily, looking like disapproving parents waiting for their daughter to return home way past curfew.

“Where have you been?” JJ asks right as Emily says, “Is your hair _wet?_ ”

“Long story,” you blurt, shutting the door behind you. “Really long story,” you chuckle, moving toward the bathroom. “And I’m not really… I don’t wanna talk about it right now.” You shut the bathroom door before they can protest, and you flick the lock for good measure.

What is happening to you?

First you have sex with your boss who was in high school by the time you were even born, and _now_ you’re shutting out your best friends?

You have no choice. You can’t tell them about what you and Hotch just did. _God_. The No Fraternization rule exists, too. Did neither of you think of that? Apparently not, considering you just had sex.

But…it could’ve been _just_ sex to him. He didn’t say anything about liking you, or having feelings for you. Not once. Not even when you said it was everything you wanted – you meant that.

Granted, you were too fucked out of your mind, but you think you would’ve remembered if he confessed his feelings to you, especially since it’s something you desperately want to happen.

But just because you want it to happen doesn’t mean it will – or even that it’s right.

Cold shower. You need a cold shower.

+++

Hotch paces in his room for what feels like hours, but is only twenty minutes.

He’s going insane, or close to it. Why did you run? He had a t-shirt set out for you and everything; he thought you were staying the night. It’s not late, but it’s… He thought you would’ve wanted to stay.

He runs over every second in his mind, dissecting every word, trying to figure out where he might’ve overstepped, or if he said the wrong thing to you. He doesn’t think he did, but he’s bad at this. The last time he felt like this was…never. You’ve completely uprooted his belief of what it means to be in love. You’ve changed it all. Everything.

And you just left.

Half of him wants to run down to JJ and Emily’s room, demanding to speak to you. But even if he does, what will he say to them? If they know, would they even let him speak to you?

Do you even _want_ to speak to him?

He should call Rossi. That’s where his mind always turns when he doesn’t know what else to do, but he can’t. He can’t tell Rossi that he just had sex with you and that it ended with you running out. He knows Dave will just tell him to run after you, but he can’t do that.

Hotch had it all planned. He was going to tell you how he feels as the two of you were laying down to sleep, or maybe over coffee in the morning. He rehearsed his lines in his head, had it all pictured.

But he didn’t picture you leaving. Never in a million years did he picture you leaving like that.

+++

You don’t sleep for shit.

Which is tragic, considering Hotch quite literally fucked you to exhaustion.

You’re not complaining, just, with everything else, it makes it difficult. Like the soreness in your shoulders and hips this morning, not to mention the small bit of carpet burn on your knees.

 _Wonderful_.

You’re up and dressed before JJ and Emily, which is a feat, but it’s only because you were tired of dozing in and out of lucid dreams of Hotch. That also gets to be exhausting after a while.

So, while they’re just beginning to move around, you head down to the lobby to get some coffee and something to eat – because you’re going to need all the energy you can get today.

It’s barely six-thirty, so you don’t expect anyone else to be down here, but lo and behold, who do you see?

Aaron fucking Hotchner.

He freezes upon seeing you too, the two coffee cups in his hands now feeling much heavier than before. You glance down to see he has two, and your face softens.

If it could just be like this. Like last night. Just the two of you. Without the input of the team, without the input of the world, of the bureau, then it would be…enchanting.

“Good morning,” he says softly, voice gravelly, so much so that it sends a jolt right to your core. _Jesus_.

He holds one cup out to you and you take it, smiling in thanks, and trying not to shiver when his fingers brush yours. “Morning.” You pause, focusing your eyes on the lid. “You look about as rough as I feel.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confesses quietly.

“Me either.” You look up, trying to read his expression, and you’re positive he’s trying to read yours. “Are we…okay?”

“Yes,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know…” You chuckle. “I kind of ditched you. Sorry about that.”

“Are you okay?” He asks. “I should’ve texted you or something, but I…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Truth is, I’m bad at this.” He waves between the two of you. “And I should’ve made sure you were okay.”

“I wasn’t,” you answer truthfully, too tired of lying. “I’m not, and I think– I don’t regret last night at all. It was great,” you breathe–

“I don’t regret it either,” he says, needing to be sure that you know that, if nothing else.

You smile, and for a second, Hotch thinks this is going somewhere else. But then you say, “But…I mean, you’re my boss,” and he doesn’t know anymore.

“And,” you continue, “there’s a No Fraternization policy, right? I-I mean, we’ve got practically everything going against us.”

“I understand,” he says, even though he doesn’t. Even though his heart is breaking. Even though he wants to pull you back up to his room and give you the speech he had rehearsed last night. If there wasn’t a case, if it wasn’t a matter of time before the team came out of the elevator, he’d do it. He’d spend the whole day with you to make you understand that even if everything is going against the two of you, he never will be.

But he can’t do that.

“This won’t…affect my job or anything, right?”

He hates that you even feel the need to ask. “No, it won’t.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Uh, thank you. For the coffee.”

“Of course,” he replies, and as he looks up, he sees Rossi walking out of the elevator.

And as Rossi walks closer, Hotch practically sees you fade away.

Rossi glances between the two of you and raises his eyebrows. Your eyes are elsewhere – the chandelier on the ceiling, the drop of coffee that is on the lid, your shoes, Aaron’s shoes, Rossi’s shoes, but no one’s eyes. Hotch shakes his head at his old friend, silently signaling for him to leave it alone.

Rossi silently obeys, leaving for a moment to get a coffee of his own.

Shortly after, the elevator brings the rest of the team. Morgan is mid-messing up Reid’s hair when the doors open, and Emily and JJ’s eyes are eagerly searching for you. Once they land on you, though, you shake your head. A silent signal just like the one Hotch gave to Rossi. And they obey the same way.

It’s strange. You had fantasized about last night for months. You fantasized about what it might be like to have the whole team know. For the whole world to know, even, that you loved Aaron.

But reality always finds a way to wreck things. In your fantasy world, the age gap doesn’t matter. His superior status to you in the BAU doesn’t mean anything. The No Fraternization policy doesn’t exist. He doesn’t come with an ex-wife and a child. And you don’t come with the trauma and mental blockades that are preventing you now from falling into his open arms.

There it is. The biggest part of it all that you have been too afraid to admit to yourself.

You had dates after Trevor, sure. It was something to pass the time. But they were merely dates. One night stands have never been your speed – before or after Trevor. Sex was never involved with the random dates you went on, and looking back, you’re grateful. Because those men didn’t want you, anyway. Didn’t want your baggage, your trauma, your anxieties.

Those that swore they didn’t care about your baggage, really did. Those that swore they wanted to be with you no matter what, didn’t.

No one wants the girl who “claims” to have been raped by her fiancé. No one wants to deal with that. _She must be crazy, out of her mind, to think it wasn’t her fiancé’s right._

Aaron doesn’t care. That much you can assume. You think, at least.

Maybe you don’t know anymore.

Maybe last night was just that: one night that is now in the past. Only to be spoken of in the past tense, never again in the future.

Maybe the dinners were just dinners. Maybe sex is all he wanted.

You don’t want to believe that Hotch would ever be that shallow – to you or anyone. But maybe if you think about it that way, it’ll be easier to push him away.

You’re not worth it, anyway. That much you know for sure. The baggage, the trauma, the anxieties. It’s all too much for you to hold on your own. You don’t want Hotch to try carrying it with you when he already has enough of his own to handle.

And you know his baggage weighs him down, too. He might do well at hiding his feelings from everyone else, but not you. You’ve always been able to see right through him.

A blessing and a curse.

Because now when he looks at you, you can’t pretend that you don’t see the hurt that lies behind his eyes.

And you can’t pretend that you don’t know you’re the one who put it there.

+++

The day moves slower than you want it to. You and Hotch play the delicate game of dancing around one another as the case moves forward.

He takes Emily and Morgan with him this time to interview more connections. You stay behind at the precinct with JJ and Reid most of the day, leaving once only to ride with Rossi to get lunch for the team.

You don’t realize that Rossi has cornered you until you’re in the car with him.

“Are you doing alright, kiddo?”

You nod a little too quickly, already starting before he’s even finished his question. The action only makes him more suspicious, and you sigh in defeat.

You’ve only known Rossi for a few weeks now, but you’ve learned quickly that there’s no use in lying to him. He sees the truth no matter what, so it’s better to just say it.

“I’m hanging in there,” you say, remembering when you used to say that to your mom. Back before she knew what Trevor did to you. You never lied to your mom. It was the most honest answer you could give while denying the truth.

You denied it for a while, even to yourself. It’s why you didn’t break up with Trevor immediately after it happened. It makes you sick to your stomach to think about now. How you cuddled up next to him, sore and hurting more than you thought was normal, but it was your first time, how were you supposed to know any different?

And it was Trevor. He was sweet in the beginning. That’s what made it so hard to admit he had hurt you, that he had raped you. Because you didn’t necessarily say you didn’t want it, just that you weren’t really sure.

Despite knowing the truth now, that what he did to you was wrong, and that he did it to those other girls, too – you still doubt yourself.

A symptom of PTSD, you were told.

“I can see that,” Rossi says, his voice bringing you back to reality. “That’s why I asked.”

You chuckle ruefully. “Do you ever get tired of knowing everything?”

“No,” he answers earnestly. “Do you ever get tired of pretending that you do?”

You almost snort at his question. “We have a rule, you know. We don’t profile each other.”

“The rules don’t apply to me,” he shrugs. “I assumed you knew that by now.”

“Guess it went over my head,” you murmur, not wanting to give him any more answers, yet you know you’ve already given them to him. He’s a master at reading between the lines.

“Try not to overthink it,” he says after a moment, almost out of nowhere, but you both know what he’s referring to. “Too many things in life pass us by because we let our head get in the way of our heart. Our heart is supposed to guide us. Our head just follows.”

“My heart has led me down the wrong paths one too many times,” you say. You don’t want to put a damper on what you know is Rossi trying to be a good friend, but you can’t help it. You’re all cynicism and darkness today. You thought finally knowing what Aaron felt like would open the skies for you. How is it that it managed to conjure a storm?

“I understand,” Rossi says, which surprises you. Part of you was expecting an argument. Not solidarity. “But you have to have faith.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper, looking over at him.

When he stops at the red light, he looks over at you, sharing your sad smile, and that is the end of the conversation.

He has said all he knows that you needed to hear. Now it is up to you to listen to your heart for once, instead of your head.


	17. We might just get away with it, the altar is my hips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Choking, oral (fem receiving), wall sex, multiple orgasms, Daddy kink, the works

You go with Emily to the next evening’s group meeting. It’s entirely uneventful, partly because the meeting was sparse in numbers tonight. Lina said sometimes that happens in the evenings, too. It ebbs and flows.

Still, your somber mood has lingered. Everything feels different than before, and you hate it. You want to go back a few weeks, back to the basement of your childhood home. You want to ignore your head and let your heart guide you.

But you don’t have a time machine.

So, you choose – for once in your life – to live in the present.

Emily offers you a supportive smile as she disappears to her room, leaving you in the hotel hallway, right outside Hotch’s door.

All you need to do is knock.

Just a simple, small action, yet it takes you two minutes to find the courage to complete.

The knock echoes all throughout the hall, ringing in your ears, vibrating from your knuckles to your elbow.

Some shuffling is heard from the other side, the deadbolt sliding out of place, and then the door swings open.

Aaron isn’t in his suit anymore. He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looks different. Normal. Cozy. Like someone you could spend your whole life with.

That’s what your heart wants. You know it. Even if it’s too early to know, you know.

“Can we talk?” You ask, but Aaron is already ushering you inside before you get the first word out of your mouth.

Once the door closes, it’s like the words won’t stop spilling from your lips.

“I don’t know _how_ to say this, so I’m just gonna say it, but…I want you. I know it’s wrong, and I know you’re my boss, and I don’t care. About any of it, I just know that I want you. But…” You pause, swallowing thickly. “I understand if that’s not what you want. It’s a two-way street, so I’m not trying to force anything that isn’t there. And I know I’m not exactly the…most ideal person, I guess, I mean, I was– I come with a lot and I get it if that would just be too much on top of the whole being my boss and being older thing. I know I should’ve said all this last night, but I was scared. And I just can’t get you out of my head, Aaron, I’ve tried, and it’s not working, and I just wanted you to know that– how I feel, in case it’s… _just_ me.”

Aaron says nothing this time. His hands are gentle when he holds your face, and your eyes slip closed. Your heart sings, _thank God_.

His lips brush yours. Slow, soft, sweet. Everything at once. You feel it: an apology for all that’s happened, all he’s done, all he’s said. It’s asking for forgiveness in a kiss.

“I want you too,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to say that, but–”

“A year,” you answer, smiling shyly. “I’ve waited a year. The first case I went on.”

“Then I’ve waited longer,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he smiles. “I knew there was something about you that first day you walked in my office.”

“Really?” _He has too many clothes on right now. Way too many._

“Really,” he nods, kissing you again. “I want you, all of you. Right now.”

“Right now,” you echo, fingers already reaching for the hem of his shirt, your sentiments the exact same.

It’s a trade off from there. His shirt, then yours. His pants, then yours. His underwear, then yours.

You’re already wrapping your hand around his length, ready to feel him, but he pushes you away. You break the kiss to show him your confusion, but he’s smiling softly.

“Tonight is about you,” he whispers. “Go lay down.”

Still confused, you nod, turning to crawl onto the bed and lie down. You prop yourself up on your elbows, though, watching him as he kneels on the end of the bed. His hands wrap around your ankles, causing a surprised yelp to leave your lips when he pulls you closer to him.

“What are you doing?” You ask through a laugh, letting your legs go limp as he hooks your left over his shoulder. He places his hands on your ass, wrapping around your hips to pull you closer to him.

He doesn’t answer your question – not verbally. Instead, he dips his head to pepper kisses along the innermost portion of your thighs, dangerously close to where you want him.

“ _Aaron_ ,” you gasp, your arms giving out when he nips at the skin a little too close to your lips, causing you to collapse onto the bed.

He lifts his head, feigning innocence. “What?” His thumbs stroke circles on your hips. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You cry. “Don’t stop!”

“That’s not how good girls speak to their Daddy,” he replies seriously, raising an eyebrow at you.

_Oh shit._

“Apologize,” he orders, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you let the name tumble from your lips with ease, noticing the way his face darkens with pleasure. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“That’s a big promise to make, sweetheart,” he coos, leaning his head on your thigh. “Are you sure you’ll be able to keep it?”

You nod vigorously.

“Use your words.”

 _Jesus Christ._ “Yes, yes I promise.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, peppering kisses around your hips, stomach, thighs. “Lie back,” he whispers. “You can hold onto my hair, okay?”

You nod again, then remembering his previous instruction, you add, “Okay.”

“Now,” he breathes, hot air fanning over your pussy. “We are in a hotel,” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit as he speaks, and you try not to whimper. “So Daddy’s gonna need you to be quiet. Can you do that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, hands fisting the sheets, using all of your willpower not to buck your hips into his mouth. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he chuckles, finally lowering his head.

You’ve never done this before, and that thought did cross your mind, but you didn’t want to tell Aaron because you didn’t want him to get nervous. But now, when his tongue strokes you, you realize you probably should’ve said something.

The pleasure is pure electricity. His tongue is masterful and warm, opening you up for him instantly. Your hips raise off the bed on their own accord, chasing the pleasure only he can give you.

Your hands leave the sheets to twist in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans, pulling you closer, burying himself. Aaron would choose to stay here for hours if you would let him, and judging by the noises you’re making, he thinks you would.

“Aaron,” you gasp, feeling your stomach tightening already, but he only dives deeper. “Daddy,” you choke out, eyes rolling back as he pulls you closer.

He focuses on your clit, and within seconds, you’re cumming, crying out as the pleasure overtakes your body. He lets you push his head down, chasing the last few waves, before your body gives out, and you sink back into the mattress.

Aaron relishes in your aftershocks, stopping once your hands slide from his head, going limp by your sides.

Pressing one last kiss to your hip, he crawls up next to you, pressing a soothing kiss to your lips. “Hey,” he murmurs, pulling back, but your eyes are still closed. “Look at me.”

You obey instantly, opening your eyes as a dazed smile crosses your lips.

“There she is,” he smiles too, kissing your nose. “You okay?”

“More than,” you breathe, body warm and buzzing all over. “I need you.”

“You have me,” Aaron replies easily.

“No, I mean,” you pause, raising one leg to hook it over his back, pulling him back toward your core. “I need you. To fuck me. Right now.”

“To fuck you?” He teases. “You have been a good girl, haven’t you?”

You nod. “Please.”

“Well,” he shrugs, settling over your hips. “Since you’ve been so good for me.”

Before he can align himself, you’re stopping him. Aaron looks at you, eyebrows furrowed, wondering why you’re biting your lip and trying not to smile.

“Use your words,” he reminds you. “What do you want?”

“Against the wall,” you blurt, squeezing his biceps. “Fuck me against the wall.”

Nothing will ever come close to the way his lips split into a grin, and without a second thought, he stands, gathering you into his arms.

He carries you to the wall, pressing your back into the space where you stood just the night before. Only this time, you’re facing him, legs circling his hips, ankles hooked together.

Aaron lines his cockhead up with your core, watching your eyes as he slides inside of you, until his hips are pressed against yours.

He starts to move, but you grip his arms tightly, so he stops. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… _don’t move_ ,” you groan, leaning your head forward onto his shoulder. “You feel good,” you murmur.

“What?”

“You feel _so good_ ,” you say again, a little louder this time. “Oh my God.” He fills you differently this way, and it’s addictive already.

Aaron chuckles lowly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You feel good, too, sweetheart,” he whispers. “You feel so good wrapped around me.”

That makes your walls flutter, and Aaron groans, fingers tightening their grip on your ass. So, naturally, you do it again. And again.

“Little girl,” he warns. “Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, sir,” you grin into his neck, but the smile is wiped right off your lips as he begins thrusting.

He’s deeper than he was last night, and the thought only makes your walls flutter once more, drawing him in more. The action causes his hips to falter, and one hand leaves your ass to press into the wall for added support.

“ _Good_ girl,” he growls, moving his hand from the wall to grip the back of your neck.

You feel it when it happens, the wave of pleasure and wetness, your walls fluttering harsher than before. And you’re damn sure he felt it too, because he has to stop entirely, catching his breath.

“Look at me,” he orders, gently. And when you lift your head, meeting his eyes, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to choke you? Use your words.”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Yes, what?” He asks, fingers already wrapping around your throat, but not applying pressure.

“Yes, sir,” you break off into a moan as he begins rocking his hips, his fingers squeezing ever so slightly on the sides of your throat. Your eyes and head roll back as the pleasure begins to build.

“Are you going to cum already?” He sneers, chuckling darkly when you try to nod. “My dirty girl. You only needed my hand around your throat, hm?”

“Yeah,” you whine, gasping when he changes angles, fucking into you harder, hitting your sweet spot every time.

“Come on,” he growls, shifting his grip on your hips. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

He knows the perfect time to apply more pressure to your neck, and as soon as he does, you crash.

He’s closer than he was letting on, because all it takes is a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you. A smaller orgasm blossoms when you feel the warmth spread through your core, a dazed smile settling over your lips at the feeling.

Taking his hand away from your neck, Aaron moves it to cup your jaw as he kisses you, coaxing you down from your high.

You lazily hook your arms around his neck, moaning into the kiss as you push your hips forward, effectively burying him even deeper inside of you.

“Two orgasms and you’re still not satisfied?” He inquires, moving to pepper kisses down your neck, nipping here and there, but not leaving any marks.

“Oh, I’m– I’m very satisfied,” you murmur, your head rolling to one side. “So satisfied.”

You’re not drunk at all, yet you sound like it. Aaron chuckles, slipping out of you, and carefully setting you down on your feet. But, as usual, your knees are trembling, so he has to help you stand.

“Shower?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at him through your lashes.

He nods. How could he ever say no to you? “Of course.” And on that note, he scoops you into his arms bridal style.

You’re a mess of giggles as he carries you to the bathroom, carefully setting you down on the toilet. As soon as the shower turns on, you begin peeing, and Aaron pays no mind.

It’s strange, you think. How the two of you act. Like you’ve always been this way. Like this is just how it is.

Once the shower is the right temperature, Aaron helps you inside, and last night is repeated.

Only this time, when you step out of the shower, and Aaron wraps you in a towel, you don’t run. Instead, you brush your hair in front of the mirror while Aaron goes to find a t-shirt for you to wear.

And when he returns with it, you drop your towel and lift your arms, allowing him to slide it over your head. He loves the fact that it swallows you whole, and you do too. (It’s kind of hot, really.)

“You’re not gonna make me sleep on the couch, are you?” You tease, crawling into the bed.

“Of course not,” he replies seriously, climbing in next to you. “You’re staying right here.” He pulls you closer by an arm around your waist, and you gladly fall into his chest.

In between kisses, you murmur, “I’m staying,” just so he hears it from you, in your voice. So he knows. You’re right here. You’re not leaving tonight. Or ever, if you can help it.

Before things can venture into heated territory again, Aaron stops, settling back into the pillows. You get comfortable in the curve of his arm, wrapping yourself around his middle while your head rests on his chest. The perfect pillow.

And just like last night, reality begins to creep in.

“Aaron,” you murmur. “We should talk.”

“I know,” he whispers. “Do you want to talk about it tonight?”

You think for a moment, and then you shake your head. “No. Can we just stay like this?”

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Of course.”

Content with that answer, you turn and bury your head into his chest, hugging him tighter, like if you don’t he’ll fade away.

“Hey Y/N,” he says quietly, lips brushing against your hair. “They weren’t just dinners.”

You smile into his skin, nodding. “I know.”

He leans over and turns off the lamp, the room falling into darkness. And the both of you sleep soundly for the first time in days.


	18. I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. _They know_.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it _every_ day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting _all_ the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“ _Finally_ , you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“ _Shit_ ,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “ _I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way._ ” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like _that_ , but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it _without_ you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”


	19. You're holding me after everything you found out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, nightmares, alluding to a panic attack, the works

The end of the day comes much quicker than you think was planned, and you have a feeling the state of you had something to do with it.

One of the unfortunate things about living with PTSD is that some days, you can _feel_ when the nightmares will be bad.

It’s a strange claim, you’re aware of that, but you’ve never been wrong, so you trust your gut. Which means tonight, you know you shouldn’t sleep. The thought looms over you all day because you’re exhausted, you’d like some sleep, but you know it would be a bad idea. You’d only wake up feeling much worse. 

Not only that, but you’re dealing with too many emotions after the note the unsub left for you. Morgan’s talk helped some, but words only help so much. It soothed your mind, but that’s about it.

You show up at Hotch’s door again, this time with your go bag in hand, and surprisingly, you don’t hesitate to knock. 

“Emily and JJ kicked me out,” you confess with a small teasing smile, and it isn’t entirely untrue. They did kick you out, but you were planning on coming to Hotch’s room anyway. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Aaron replies, pulling you inside with a cheesy smile.

You drop your bag on the floor and wrap your arms around his neck as his circle your waist, pulling you as close as he physically can. You peck his nose and giggle, and he swallows the melodic sound as he smothers your lips with a kiss. 

“Hi,” you murmur when you pull away, noses still touching. 

“Hi,” he echoes, putting this entire moment to memory. Your giggle, your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, everything. He wants to remember this forever. 

“I’m exhausted,” you say softly, meaning it more than he knows. “Do you care if we just cuddle tonight?” If you can’t sleep, you can at least spend the night in his arms. You’d love to do _other_ things, but you’re not too sure how your PTSD will react to that tonight.

“Not at all,” he assures you. “It’s been a long day.”

“Too long,” you sigh, leaning your head down on his chest. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” you mumble into his shirt. “Can we just talk about nothing?”

“Nothing?” He quirks an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” you lift your head. “Like what’s your favorite thing to do on your rare day off?”

“See Jack,” he answers almost immediately. “I usually try to coordinate with Haley so I can have him for the whole day. We’ll go to the park and get lunch. Do all the normal dad stuff that I should be around more to do.”

His tone ventures dangerously close to self-loathing, and you’re having none of that. 

“Hey,” you cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “Jack loves you. And he loves those moments that you have with him.”

“I know he does, but I should do it more.”

“You’re already around more than my dad ever was,” you say gently. “I don’t even love my dad. But sometimes there’s a part of me that wishes I could. Or that he would’ve at least tried to be around. You’re _trying_. And Jack loves you for that. That’s enough.”

Aaron whispers a small, “Thank you,” and seals his gratitude with a kiss. “What about you? What do you do on your days off?”

“What days off?” You tease. “My boss never gives me any.”

“Very funny.”

“I try,” you grin, moving your hand to the back of his head again, wanting to play with his hair more like you did this morning. “I usually Facetime my mom. Or sleep. Mostly sleep.”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. “Do you not sleep normally?”

You can’t tell if his question is asked in jest or not, so you answer with a mixture of both. “I do sleep normally like a normal human being, but sometimes nightmares interrupt it.”

Now you realize he was being serious, and he’s only grown more so. “Nightmares? For how long?”

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, trying to tug the conversation back toward humor. “I had them before the BAU.”

But still, Aaron’s face remains serious and now concerned. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“Thank you for asking,” you say because he is so sincere that you want him to know you’re grateful. “But I never like talking about them.”

“I understand,” he replies. “But I’m here. If you ever want to.”

“Ditto,” you smile, your fingers still scratching a steady pattern on the base of his neck. 

He soothes your worrying mind with another kiss.

In the shower, Aaron pays special attention to you, taking his time to wash your body (and your hair, because apparently doing any work at all was off limits for you tonight, but you weren’t complaining). 

Every time his fingers touch your skin, they banish another bad thought. And another. And another.

You’d let him keep touching you if you thought he could banish all the bad thoughts you have or had. Every last one.

You might let him try.

He falls asleep first, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. Your mind stays awake despite his soft heartbeat being the perfect lullaby.

After two hours of listening -- to his heartbeat and to your racing thoughts -- you get out of bed. It’s quite the feat because he’s an incredibly light sleeper, but you manage.

Sliding the glass doors to the small balcony is another feat that you manage to silently complete, but not without keeping a watchful eye on his sleeping form to make sure he doesn’t move. He stays asleep, lips parted gently, eyebrows relaxed. He looks relaxed, which isn’t normal for him, but you like it. You wish he’d relax more often.

You lean your elbows on the metal railing, taking in a deep breath of the night air. And hoping the moonlight will have better luck at banishing the bad thoughts from your mind before they take over.

Tomorrow is going to be hell. It was going to be hell regardless, because today makes ten dead bodies, and technically, you’re no closer to finding this unsub. Your card had no prints on it whatsoever, none that they could really use. The letter itself had no prints, either. Reid’s been analyzing the handwriting, but so far he’s found nothing useful.

So, you’re basically at square one. All over again.

If tomorrow starts with another body, you don’t know what you’ll do. How you’ll react.

You’re not sure what it is, but you know it must be a combination of a million things. 

Facing Trevor just a month ago now was the hardest thing you’ve ever done -- in front of the team, no less. You had figured they’d eventually find out what happened to you, but you were hoping for it to be on your own terms, maybe ten years down the road. Ideally, they never would’ve found out at all, but obviously you don’t live in an ideal world.

The fact that Trevor hurt those other girls, and it cost them their lives. It’ll haunt you for as long as you live. Maybe longer. Maybe it’ll follow you even in the afterlife.

And Hotch...the constant back and forth, the arguing. It’s all settled down now, you think. But you can never be too sure. You can never let your guard down too far.

This case certainly doesn’t help matters. You still empathize with this unsub on some level, but the killing is wrong. Part of you wishes she will call your phone, so you can set up something, or even so you can go alone and convince her to come in. You know that’ll break protocol, but at this point, you don’t care.

You just want the killings to end. You want this unsub to find peace, the way you’ve found some peace in this job. You want her to know it’s possible to feel peace, despite what you’ve both gone through. It’s possible, it’s within reach, but killing isn’t the way to get to it.

You remember wanting to kill Trevor. You know your mom has always had some worry in the back of her mind, ever since you first got a government-issued firearm to keep on you at all times. You know she had to have worried about you using it for the wrong reasons.

But you never have. Because you realized taking out Trevor would effectively be killing yourself. It’s better for you to be alive, so you can catch more people like Trevor -- instead of just the one.

Some days it doesn’t feel like enough. Some days you don’t feel like you’re enough. Today is one of those days.

+++

Hotch wakes to a cold bed, confused and dazed. Panic surges through him, thinking the worst, until he sees the glass doors leading to the balcony are opened, and your figure leaning against the railing.

Slowly, rubbing his eyes to fully wake himself up, he stands from the bed to check on you. He lets his mind get the best of him. You look so beautiful like this, the moonlight on your skin, one of his t-shirts covering your body. He wants to wake up to this sight every day. 

Without thinking, he steps onto the balcony and wraps his arms around your waist.

Only, he doesn’t actually get that far, because as soon as you sense a presence behind you, your already reeling mind kicks into overdrive. There is no choosing between fight, flight, or freeze. Your mind only sees _fight_.

Your elbow shoots out and collides with his chest, catching him off guard and knocking some air from his lungs, and you’ve spun and kneed him right in the family jewels before you realize that it’s _Aaron_.

 _“Oh my god,”_ you gasp, pulling your fingers back from his arms like his bare flesh is burning your fingers. You stumble backwards, your own knee stinging from the hit. “Aaron, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking--”

“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice says otherwise, strained and short. “I’m fine.” But he’s cupping his crotch with one hand, and rubbing the spot on his chest where a nice red mark is forming from your elbow.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry.” You back away from him, pressing your back against the metal railing, letting it dig into your spine, _come back to Earth, dammit, you just hurt him._

The pain subsides for Aaron fairly quickly, in part because he’s more concerned about you and the look on your face and that he’s felt much worse from other cases. He’s never seen you look this way before, this haunted. You place your head in your hands, and when you look up again, your cheeks are wet, but your eyes are still blank, still eerily clouded.

“Hey…” He murmurs, taking a small step closer. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head again. “I hurt you, I’m sorry.”

“I’m alright, no harm done,” he says gently, but he watches as your face twists, more tears flowing, your bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Y/N…” He takes another step, ready to wrap you in his arms, but you stop him.

“No, don’t come near me, I don’t wanna hurt you--”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he replies softly, though his steps falter for a second. “Let me hold you.”

You give in, mostly because your energy is quickly dying, and you might collapse if he doesn’t hold you up.

+++

It takes some time, but you calm down, and for a moment Aaron thinks you’ve even fallen asleep standing up, but you haven’t.

“Hey,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “Are you okay?”

You nod into his chest, inhaling deeply, keeping your forehead pressed to his skin. You can’t believe you hit him. And kneed him in the crotch.

You hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the words tumbling from your lips. “I’m _so sorry._ ”

“It’s okay,” Aaron replies soothingly. “I’m okay. I’ve had so much worse, that was nothing.”

“But I still hit you.”

“You didn’t mean it,” Aaron says, holding you tightly. “I know it would’ve hurt a lot worse if you meant it.”

You chuckle quietly into his chest. “Stop it. I’d never hit you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, leaning his chin down on your head.

For a few more moments, the two of you stand there in each other’s arms, the moonlight coating your bodies, a slight breeze blowing past you. Goosebumps raise on Aaron’s arms, causing you to raise your head.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m alright.”

“You have goosebumps!” You argue, squeezing your arms around his waist even tighter, as if that will help. “Let’s go inside, come on.” Your arms slip from his torso and you grab his hand, tugging him over the threshold and into the hotel room.

With his free hand, Aaron slides the glass doors closed, flicking the lock. Still holding onto his other hand, you begin playing with his fingers nervously.

He furrows his eyebrows at you. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing the back of it, then pressing his palm to your cheek. His face softens when a tear slips from the corner of your right eye.

“Come here,” he says, while pulling you back into his chest, and this time, you sob.

He doesn’t mind holding you while you cry -- he’ll do it for as long as you need him to -- but it’s how _hard_ you’re crying that worries him. It’s frantic and panicked, a tidal wave cousin to a tsunami. 

When minutes pass and your cries haven’t let up, Aaron kneels down, putting him at your eye level with your head turned downwards. His hands cup your face, thumbing the tears away as they fall, sweet nothings falling from his lips as he tries to soothe you.

And eventually, it does, or it does somewhat, because words start to form in between your cries.

“Nightmare-- It was uh-- but I was awake. I was _there_ , but it wasn’t _real_ , but--”

Aaron shushes you some more, getting the gist of what you’re trying to convey. He stands again to tuck your head into his chest.

He glances at the clock and sees that it’s just now two in the morning. Still time to get a little bit of sleep-- He’ll come in late if it means making sure you’re alright.

Aaron gathers you in his arms again, laying you down on the bed, underneath the covers. He slides in right next to you, and you latch onto him like a koala, tears still leaking from your eyes, but the sobbing having subsided now.

He pulls the comforter up to your ears, tucking you in, letting you bury your face in his neck. 


	20. You know all that, still you stay

You’re not sure when you are lulled to sleep. All you know is you hadn’t planned on it, so you wake with a start.

The sudden movement scares the shit out of you _and_ Hotch who looks up from a file. He’s sat on the couch, already dressed, but without his tie and jacket, and now he’s gazing at you with concern.

“What time is it?” You ask, already throwing the comforter off your body. It’s way too bright outside to be six a.m. You head toward the bathroom, ready to get on with the day.

“Eight,” he says. “You can sleep more if you need to.”

 _“Eight?”_ You nearly scream, poking your head out from the bathroom. “The hell did you let me sleep so late for?”

“You needed it,” he replies, looking back down at the file. “I had the rest of the team go ahead to the precinct half an hour ago.” He pauses, knowing the question that’s on your lips. “There aren’t any new bodies.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, splashing some water on your face. 

You’re well aware of why Hotch let you sleep later than usual, and it’s not because there aren’t any new bodies this morning -- even if you want to believe that’s the sole reason.

You remember clearly what happened last night. You remember standing on the balcony to clear your head. You remember that plan failing miserably as you began to spiral. You remember zoning out as some memories came flooding back. You remember being nineteen again--

And then Hotch tried to put his arms around your waist. And you kneed him right where it hurts the most. 

You grip the bathroom counter, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s been a long time since something like that has happened. Last time something close to it happened was when a friend snuck up behind you, thinking it would be funny to scare you, and you nearly fractured their nose. You would have, if they hadn’t leaned back at the right moment.

Not your finest moment. And neither was last night, but thankfully, no real damage was done. You don’t think you could physically harm Hotch even if you wanted to. He seems like he’s made of straight steel.

Still, the thought plagues you. Hitting him. Hurting him. His surprised groan of pain echoes in your ears.

You’re not like this unsub. Not at all. And you won’t be. She’s hurting, too, but you’re better. You know how to cope better than hurting people. You help. And you need to help her, too.

Finishing the pep talk with a small nod to yourself in the mirror, you turn and head back into the room. 

You almost go straight to your bag to get dressed for the day, but you stop, turning and plopping down right next to Hotch on the couch.

He shifts, lifting his arm to make room for you against his chest. You tilt your head up at him, smiling softly.

And you kiss him. You lean in first this time. You pull his face to yours, and you coax his lips open. At the first brush of your tongue, he finally relaxes, taking control once more, case file forgotten on his lap.

You pull back after a moment, resting your forehead on his, savoring this feeling. His fingers stroke a soothing rhythm on your arm.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “For what you did last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmurs. “I was just taking care of you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he replies, “and you’re not going to argue with me about it.”

You poke out your bottom lip, accepting your defeat. “Okay.” You pause, stopping the pout to nearly glare at him. “Thank you for letting me sleep in, but you really didn’t need to.”

He gives you a look right back. “It was half past four before you finally calmed down and fell asleep.”

“And?”

“You need your rest,” he says firmly. “And I was not going to let you work on this case with less than an hour of decent sleep.”

“I’ve come to work on less.”

“And you won’t be doing it again. Do you understand?”

You clench your jaw, stopping the (no doubt) bratty words from tumbling out of your lips. “Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, turning his head back to the file in his lap. “Next time without the attitude.”

You almost say something else, but you settle for rolling your eyes.

As you’re grabbing your go bag and tossing it onto the bed, though, Aaron says, “I saw that.”

You offer a sheepish smile before going into the bathroom to get dressed.

+++

You and Hotch finally make it to the precinct around nine. You find the team in the conference room while Hotch goes to talk to the sheriff.

And of course when you walk into the conference room, the first thing out of Morgan’s mouth is, “Long night?”

You glare at him. “Yes. And not because of what your nasty mind is thinking.”

“Woah,” Morgan raises his hands in surrender, all teasing having disappeared from his voice quickly upon seeing the look on your face. “You good?”

The rest of the team watches on for your reply.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sinking down into a chair next to read. “Just peachy. Make any breakthroughs?”

Thankfully, Reid takes your question as an opportunity to ramble about the new things he found out from the handwriting on the letter. The rest of the team must’ve already heard this because they either roll their eyes, look at something else, and Rossi left the room entirely.

You’re glad for a distraction, though, so you listen intently as Reid fills you in.

“Her writing is very neat and by very neat I mean, she must handwrite daily or something. Take a look at this--”

“Wait, pause,” you nudge his arm to get his attention. “She writes daily? Like in a journal or something?”

“It’s possible,” Reid nods. “See how her letters are evenly spaced and some of the lines curl together. It’s a mix of print and cursive, which means she’s educated. She also wrote this in a hurry because it doesn’t appear that she picked up her pen from one word to another in some places.” He points them out.

You nod slowly, seeing what he’s saying. “That’s great and all, but what does that tell us?”

“A lot actually,” Reid replies. “We knew she was clever, but this handwriting suggests she might be not only street smart but also book smart--”

“So she has a degree.”

“It’s very likely,” he nods. “And since this was written in a hurry, we know that she might be beginning to devolve. She’s getting nervous, and she’ll make more mistakes.”

“Like the two bodies yesterday.”

“Exactly,” he says. “In a way,” he shrugs, leaning back in the chair, “I think she left this note because she knew she made a huge mistake by also killing the wife. But she knew she’d be caught if she let the wife live. She knows things are coming to an end. That’s evident even in her writing, look. See how she’s bearing down more with the pen here?”

You nod, wondering if you just missed this lesson in your training, or if this is one of Reid’s random hobbies. Maybe both.

“So she’s scared,” you offer.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “It’s hard to tell what she’s feeling exactly. I just know it isn’t how someone who is feeling hopeful writes. It worries me that I can’t pinpoint it, I mean, it’s not chicken scratch, so it doesn’t visibly suggest a psychotic break on some level, but…”

“With everything else we know, it might.”

“Yeah,” he grimaces.

You sigh and turn your head to find that Hotch is looking through the window at you, so you offer a small smile. He returns it, and you look down, messing with your fingers.

Meanwhile, Reid is glancing between you and Hotch, while the latter has gone back to talking with Rossi.

Still, the look in your eyes just then, now fiddling with your fingers, the two of you sharing a room -- all of it clicks instantly, and Spencer’s eyes widen dramatically. 

You raise your eyes to see he’s staring at you like a deer in the headlights. “Reid?”

He blinks once. Twice. “Um.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

At this point, JJ and Emily have looked up from their respective files and Morgan is shaking Reid’s shoulder a little.

“Kid? You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer finally says, clearing his throat, returning his eyes to a normal size. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

He abruptly stands and goes to the whiteboard while you share a look with the rest of the team, wondering what the hell got into him all of the sudden.

+++

Outside of the conference room, Rossi catches Hotch once the latter is done speaking to the sheriff. 

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Hotch pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Yes… I was just giving the sheriff my apologies for coming in a little later than usual.” Which is true, and Hotch did it completely out of courtesy to the sheriff. Thankfully, she didn’t care and said apologies aren’t necessary. Hotch didn’t really mean the apology, anyway. “Why?”

“I was just curious,” Dave shrugs, hands in his pockets.

“What is it?”

“How is she doing?” Dave asks finally, lowering his voice a little.

Before Aaron went to sleep, he turned off his first few alarms and sent a text to Dave. It was brief, but he let Dave know and told him to let the rest of the team know that they’d start today a little later than usual. Aaron framed it as everyone needing rest, but Dave knew something was wrong.

So, when Dave woke up and replied to the text, he asked Hotch if you were alright.

Aaron caved. He had never seen you as broken as you were last night. He didn’t know how to handle it, if he even handled it correctly. He was acting blindly, doing what he thought felt right because you weren’t able to form any words anyway to tell him what you needed. All he could think to do was hold you.

He’s the unit chief of the FBI’s BAU, and all he could think to do for his inconsolable girlfriend -- is that who you are now? -- was hold her. That’s it.

Dave talked Aaron down, told him that he did what you needed most. Aaron believed him. And when you thanked him this morning, Aaron finally relaxed.

“She’s better,” Hotch replies slowly. “She’s not talking about it.”

“That’s understandable,” Rossi exhales. “She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

And Hotch knows that. But he wants you to talk about it now. He wants to fix it, even though he knows that he can’t. He still wants to try.

“What are you so worried about?” Rossi asks, noticing the strain on Hotch’s face. “That she won’t be able to do her job?”

It’s a subtle hint at their arguments in the past. Hotch feels it.

He shakes his head. “No. I know she can. That’s what worries me. That she can just forget about taking care of herself.”

“She’s taking care of herself just fine.”

“She almost didn’t sleep at all last night, Dave,” Hotch argues. “She was planning on staying awake all night, I know it.”

“But she didn’t,” Dave reminds him. “Because she has you.”

Aaron nods, turning his head to look at you in the conference room. You’re sitting next to Reid, the note from the unsub on the table in front of you both. 

Then, like you’re in tune with when he’s thinking about you, you turn your head, catching his eyes. And you smile.

It melts his worries away for only a moment, and he returns your soft smile, wishing he could give you a kiss right now.

But you both agreed to be professional, so you both look away.

Rossi watches. He knows.

He knows Aaron is already in love with you.

So he asks, “How long?”

And Aaron furrows his eyebrows. “How long until what?”

So he doesn’t know yet. But he’ll figure it out soon.

“Nothing,” Rossi shakes his head. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, want one?”

“Sure,” Aaron nods, following his oldest friend to the coffee machine, stealing one more glance back at you. You’re laughing and trying to steal Morgan’s coffee.

He doesn’t know how you do it. You were so haunted last night. And now you look like you’re back to normal.

+++

Things are strange at the precinct. Officers have canvassed all areas possible, even though all of you understood how useless it was. The unsub strikes at night, so even if they did happen to see her walking on the sidewalk, they wouldn’t know that it’s her. She’d just look like any random citizen. And they can’t possibly question every single average height brunette in the area.

Still, as the sun begins to set and the Chinese food containers are thrown away, nothing new appears. No new leads. No new information. Reid exhausted every grain of ink in the letter. You’ve all exhausted every avenue of speculation, even with Garcia.

There’s nothing. Square one.

Hotch has refused to sit next to you, and while you know he’s doing it because you both agreed to a level of professionalism, it still doesn’t make you feel any better. You’re tired and it’s showing. You just want to curl into his chest, but you can’t. At least not right now.

You’re two seconds away from kicking Hotch’s leg under the table to get his attention just so you can give him your best pouty eyes so he’ll dismiss everyone for the day.

Until your phone starts buzzing on the table, sending vibrations up everyone’s arms.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise. So do yours.

From the laptop Garcia says, “What’s going on? Why are we all looking like that?”

You flip your phone over and see that it’s an unknown number calling you. Normally, you’d excuse the number as spam and roll your eyes. But this time feels different.

“Garcia, who’s calling my cell right now?”

She already has it pulled up and traced by the time you finish your question. “Can’t really tell. Looks like a disposable cell.”

“Okay,” you nod. It’s still ringing.

“Answer it,” Hotch says suddenly. “Everyone be quiet. JJ, shut the door.”

She does, shutting it and standing in front of it so no one comes in.

Hotch nods to you. The phone is still ringing. Whoever it is, they’re insistent.

Hesitantly, you accept the call, pressing the speaker button. “Hello?”

“Is this Agent Y/N L/N?” It’s a female voice.

You stare at Hotch as you answer, needing his eyes to ground you. “It is. Who is this?”

“You know who I am,” she replies easily. “You’ve been looking for me.”

“I don’t know who you are,” you reply just as easily, your tone leveled. “What’s your name?”

“Savannah Rimes,” she says, making your eyes widen. You look to the rest of your team, their expressions showing the same surprise. Garcia is typing away, no doubt getting everything she can on the unsub.

“Savannah, it’s nice to finally meet you,” you say, realizing you left a long pause. “Why are you calling?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says. “That’s why I took your card. That’s why I came to every meeting. You don’t remember seeing me?”

You think for a moment, remembering faces, trying to remember one that was more frequent than another.

And you remember her. “You have bangs, right?” You say. “Brown eyes. Long brown hair, it was curled one day. You were wearing a red skirt.”

You almost hear her smile in her words. “You do remember.”

“Of course I do,” you say, even though the memory is vague. “How could I not?”

Stroke her ego. Boost her confidence. Make her think you’re actually on her side.

“I’d love to meet you in person,” you blurt, ignoring Morgan’s sudden death stare and clenched jaw. “Is there somewhere we could meet up?”

“You want to turn me in?” Savannah’s tone sounds dangerously angry.

“No, no, no,” you lean closer to the phone. “Why would I want to do that? You’re my...Savannah, you’re my hero.”

“I am?”

“You are,” you nod. “You’re taking out the bad guys. You’re getting rid of them. You’re doing what all of us wish we were strong enough to do.”

She’s quiet. 

“I’d love to meet you, to thank you in person,” you keep going, closing your eyes, hating how smoothly this is all coming out. “And I kind of need to ask you a favor.”

“A favor?” She’s instantly more perked up than before. All heads around the conference table turn to you.

“Yeah,” you open your eyes, staring down at the phone. “I don’t want to ask over the phone, though. I’d like to ask in person.”

“Yes, yeah, of course.” She fumbles with something on the other end. “I can send you an address and we can meet at...at eight?”

Eight. Two hours. Well, more like one and a half.

“Perfect. Just text it to me and I’ll meet you at eight.”

“Just you?”

“Just me,” you confirm, even though you’re obviously lying. You send a look to Hotch so he knows you’re not serious about going alone. The look he sends back is damn near lethal.

He’s pissed.

“Okay,” Savannah replies. “I’ll text you. See you soon.”

“See you soon, friend.” 

You end the call and all Hell breaks loose.

The first remark comes from Morgan. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He nearly yells, and if it weren’t for the room full of officers on just the other side of the door, you know he would have.

“Derek--”

“Don’t Derek me,” he interrupts, pointing at you. “What did I tell you? You’re not sacrificing yourself. We talked about this.”

“I’m not sacrificing myself!”

But Hotch jumps in, Morgan’s comment setting him off, and he stands from his chair. “The two of you talked about this?” 

You nod. No sense in lying. “Yes. We did.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?”

“I told her not to,” Morgan jumps to your defense, but then he looks pointedly back at you. “Because it’s a stupid idea and we’re not doin’ it.”

“Oh come on!”

“This unsub is dangerous, Y/N!” Morgan yells. “We are not sending you in there when you could get seriously hurt! It’s too risky!”

“I’ll be wearing a vest!”

“Oh, what, after you told her it’ll be just the two of you? How’s that gonna look when you walk in with a giant FBI strapped to your chest?” He motions across his own chest for emphasis. “So much for her trust, right?”

“We have discreet ones, genius.”

“You better watch your tone--”

“Both of you, _shut the hell up!_ ” Hotch booms, causing everyone’s eyes to go wide, and your mouth to immediately snap closed. “Listen to me,” he says, voice lower, but still commanding. “We have less than two hours to get a plan together and to get a team to the location. Arguing like children isn’t going to move this forward any faster, so the arguing stops. Right now. Are we clear?”

Morgan nods, accepting defeat. “Understood.”

Hotch looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hotch mutters, hardly meaning it. “JJ, find the sheriff and let her know what’s going on. Get her to gather anyone she can, call people in if she needs.” 

JJ nods, opening the door and rushing out to find the sheriff.

“The rest of us need to get together a plan. Y/N, you and I will have a conversation later about this. But right now, we can’t change it, so we need to run with it.” He pauses. “And it isn’t a bad idea, but there will be changes, and I would have preferred more warning.”

You nod, not saying a word, knowing it’s a mute point. 

“Garcia, are you looking up the address?”

“I am, sir,” Garcia replies. “It looks like an abandoned warehouse of some sort? It’s not residential or commercial. The last lease I have on it ended six months ago.”

“Oh, great,” Morgan deadpans.

You send him a glare. He returns it.

“Focus,” Hotch reminds you. “We need to figure this out quickly. Which means I need you both here and not at each other’s throats. Got it? I’m not asking again.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. 

Let the planning begin.


	21. Can you hear me screaming "Please don't leave me"?

You and Morgan make the unspoken agreement to not even look in each other’s direction while figuring out the plan. You don’t speak much at all, knowing you’re on thin ice with Hotch already as it is.

He meant it when he said it isn’t a bad plan, necessarily. The unsub needs to be caught, and quickly. He would be foolish to not take advantage of this opportunity while it’s here, even if he would have much rather you not make the call for him.

Which is precisely why he’s speaking to a room full of police officers right now.

“We need officers to begin canvassing the area. Set up roadblocks here, here, and here,” Hotch points to the various markers that Reid laid out on the map. “We don’t know if she will try to run. Female serial killers can be incredibly unpredictable, especially one who believes she has been doing the right thing. She’s intelligent and probably already has her own escape routes lined up. We need to be at every possible one.”

Morgan takes over for a brief moment. “She has shot every one of our victims with a handgun, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any other weapons. And a bullet is a bullet. She’s still considered armed and dangerous.”

Back to Hotch. “Agent L/N will go in alone.”

You watch Morgan’s expression harden. Emily squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, and you offer a smile. You’re more nervous than you’ve ever been in your life. You won’t lie. But you have to do this.

“She will signal when it’s safe for us to enter,” Hotch continues. “But we will also be listening in to ensure maximum safety. If you hear a shot, move in. If you see me signal, move in. If you hear me yell, move in. Do not go in prematurely. You will only be putting Agent L/N’s life in unnecessary danger, not to mention the other civilians in the area if this unsub slips through our fingers again.”

Hotch’s tone is commanding and clear, but you hear a different edge. Worry.

The officers nod in understanding. The sheriff watches to make sure everyone is listening intently.

“I realize this is short notice for a big plan like this, but sometimes this happens. It’s been two weeks -- eight months since this unsub first started. We can’t let her continue any longer.” He pauses, making sure he’s covered everything. “The meeting is scheduled for eight p.m. Sheriff Ansley will let you know your positions. Thank you.”

The sheriff motions for the officers to meet her up front for their positions, so the crowd slowly trickles out and away.

You exhale loudly, relaxing your shoulders. Why did you decide to take this job, again? Seriously, a year ago, what were you thinking when you said _yeah, sure, I’d love to join the BAU and profile serial killers for a living?_

“Hey,” Morgan taps your shoulder, breaking you out of your worrisome thought cycle. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You nod. “Sure.”

He turns and moves toward the hallway, away from everyone conversing and all the chaos. Somehow, he could tell it was suffocating you.

“I know you’re mad at me,” you start.

But he stops you. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he shakes his head. “And I’m not. I’m worried about you, kiddo. I’m scared for you. Are you sure about this?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. She’s hurting, I’ve gotta talk to her.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Morgan says gently, keeping eye contact with you to be sure you’re hearing him. “You can’t save everyone.”

“I know,” you admit, even though that’s the last thing you want to hear right now. “But I can help her.”

“Some people don’t wanna be helped.”

“I have to _try_ ,” you whisper, your voice sounding more desperate than you thought it would. “Derek, I just have to try.”

“I know,” he says. “I got you.”

And he does. He pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. You will yourself not to cry. You can break down later tonight, after all this is over, and you’re back at the hotel or on the jet headed home. But not right now. You need to focus right now.

“You know I love you, right?” Morgan says after he pushes away from the hug, but he’s still holding onto you by your shoulders. “If you can’t think about anything else, I want you to remember that I love you. And I’ve got your back, alright?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”

He pats your shoulder once, blinking back his own tears. There’s no time to cry right now.

You both walk back over to join the rest of the team at the table. It’s time to get suited up.

Hotch helps you into the bulletproof vest that goes underneath your shirt. Everyone turned their backs, and the blinds to the conference room were drawn.

No one said a word about him helping you, either. You’re glad. Because that’s one more conversation you can’t take right now.

You want to kiss him. You settle for looking deeply into his eyes, neither of you saying anything else. Because there are no words.

+++

You drive to the abandoned warehouse on your own, since you’re the only one who will be going inside. The rest of the team isn’t far behind.

The plan is for you to get inside, get Savannah to a place where she can’t see outside, and signal through the small device that’s hooked up to Hotch’s earpiece. When he gets the first, single signal, he’ll know to have everyone move closer, right outside the building. But the key part is that Savannah doesn’t see.

From there, it’s up to you to talk Savannah down, or signal for everyone else to come inside once it’s safe to. You hope to be able to talk her down first, maybe even convince her to go with you.

You’re not sure how she’ll react to you trying to bargain with her.

When you park outside the warehouse, you discreetly lift your wrist to your lips as you’re leaned over, pretending to look through a purse. “About to head inside.”

Hotch’s voice filters through your ears a second later. “Be safe. Stick to the plan.”

“Understood,” you reply quickly, sitting back up. You make a show of your phone, so if Savannah is watching she will only think you were grabbing it. You send her a text for good measure. _**I’m here. Do I just come inside?**_

You step out of the vehicle, adjusting your hair to be sure it’s covering your earpiece. While you’re walking to the front, Savannah texts back. _**Yes, I’m inside.**_

The bulletproof vest weighs heavy on your chest, and you’re not used to wearing one under your clothes, so that adds another aspect of uncomfortableness, on top of your nerves.

You pull your phone out to use the flashlight so you don’t fall on your face.

The building is about as abandoned as they come. Windows have bullet holes in them or are completely smashed out. The doorway that you walk through has no door at all. It’s laying on the ground, actually, the glass shattered all around it.

Savannah scares the shit out of you when she suddenly materializes in front of you, her own flashlight in her hand. “Hi.”

“Oh, hi,” you try to smile, concealing your nerves. You lower your phone so the flashlight isn’t on her. The last thing she needs is a light on her, mimicking an interrogation. “It’s nice to see you again,” you offer, getting a good look at her, though it’s hard when her flashlight is pointed right at your eyes.

She nods curtly. “Is that your phone?”

You glance down at it and nod, holding it back up. “Uh, yeah, it is. Couldn’t see.”

“Turn it off.”

“The flashlight?”

“No. The _phone_. Turn it off,” she says again, gesturing to it with her free hand. “We don’t need one of your nosy coworkers using the GPS and finding us, duh.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “You’re so right. This is why I need you. You’re a lot smarter than I am.” Stroke her ego. Make her feel needed.

You turn off your phone, making sure she can see you do it. Once it’s powered all the way down, you stuff it in your back pocket.

She seems satisfied, and a shy smile has appeared on her lips. “Come this way,” she nods down a hall. “I got snacks.”

“Oh, awesome,” you grin, following after her.

She leads you down a hall and toward the back of the building. To your surprise, she stops in a room that has one window, but there’s a tarp covering it, blocking anyone from seeing inside.

This is almost too perfect. While her back is turned to you, you quickly press on the device, signaling to Hotch. 

“I didn’t know what to get, so I kind of just raided the gas station for a bunch of shit,” she says, clicking off the flashlight. 

There’s a small, battery powered lantern, like one you’d use for camping, sitting in the middle of the pile of snacks. It’s all junk food and candy, a couple bottles of water sitting next to it. It looks like what you’d buy for a girl’s night in.

That’s really what this unsub thinks this is.

She sits down with her back facing the window, so you sit across from her, silently glad that she chose to put her back to the albeit covered window. You can’t see anything, but if things go south, you can rip the tarp down and gesture out the window.

You’re getting ahead of yourself. _Talk her down. Reason with her._

“So,” Savannah starts, pausing to break into a bag of chips. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, I mean, I kind of wanted to just check on you first,” you shrug, grabbing a bag of snacks, too. You need to act as normal as possible. “How are you doing? You got two people last time instead of one.”

Savannah sighs, nodding, not even denying it. She really trusts you. “That was an accident. The wife wasn’t supposed to walk in. I couldn’t risk her calling the police and then me getting caught. I’ve got too much work to do, y’know?”

You shake your head. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a whole list,” she explains, her eyes widening in excitement. It’s almost terrifying in the low light. “People come to me and they tell me their stories, and I’ll add their abusers to the list. I’ve added yours, too, just don’t know his name. What is it?”

You blink. “You’ve added mine to the list?”

“Of course,” Savannah replies, popping a chip in her mouth. “What he did was awful to you. He deserves to pay for it. What’s his name?”

“Uh, Jacob,” you murmur. You might despise Trevor, but as you said yesterday, you’d never send a serial killer after him. “I can’t believe you’d do that for me,” you say, lowering your eyes, covering up your shock and slight disgust with shyness. “That’s so nice. I mean, my mom and I talked about doing it because it’s fun to joke about it, but…”

“ _You_ weren’t joking, were you?” Savannah says gently.

 _No, I definitely was, because I’m not a murderer._ You shake your head, though, playing along. “I wanted to kill him. Mom didn’t get it. No one did.”

“I get it,” she says, sounding sincere. “It’s why I started doing this.”

“How did you start?” You ask sheepishly, half intrigued and half trying to stall.

“I just got fed up of thinking about it, and finally decided I could do it if I wanted to. I stopped thinking and started doing.”

“It sounds so easy when you say it like that,” you laugh, fiddling with the wrapper of the snack. You’re not about to eat anything in here, but you need to look like you might.

“I can help you,” Savannah offers. “We could take down Jacob together, y’know? It’d be awesome having you join me. ‘Cause you know all the inside secrets and things,” she says, getting more excited. “We’d never get caught if you were with me. What do you think?”

You shake your head. “I can’t just leave my job like that.”

“Do you even like your job?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, I get to fight the bad guys, like you do. It makes me feel good to catch them and put a stop to them.”

“Do you think I’m one of them?”

“No,” you reply, and you actually mean it. “I don’t, actually. I wouldn’t be here with you if I did.”

She hums, but it doesn’t sound pleased. “I almost tried to go into law enforcement. Got through the training, but couldn’t do it. I wanted to do things my own way. Don’t you want to do that, too?”

So she is book smart, but in the sense that she’s been through the police academy. Your profiling never picked that up. 

You shrug. “I kinda like being given orders. It takes some stress away. Aren’t you stressed out? Having to find these guys and go through it all alone?”

“I’m used to it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says nonchalantly. “Besides, I’m here to help. That’s all I’m doing is helping.”

“Yeah, but have you ever thought about helping in other ways? Ways that don’t cause you as much stress?”

She pauses. “What are you saying?”

“Like...you could volunteer somewhere, kind of like a therapist.”

“I’ve killed too many people to be a therapist.”

“I could help get you a deal, so the sentence wouldn’t be as bad.”

“Sentence? Do you really think I’m going to turn myself in?” Savannah asks incredulously. 

It happens in a split second, and it’s the most terrifying split second of your life. It dawns on Savannah then that this isn’t a casual hangout. It’s a complete setup.

“Are _you_ turning me in?” She stands to her feet then, panicked and her trust is all gone, evaporated in the blink of an eye.

“No, no,” you say quickly, standing too, not daring to be on a different level than her. “I’m not, I swear. Listen--”

“You’re lying!” She screams, grabbing onto the tarp over the window and pulling it down, revealing the police cars lined up outside. A few blacked out vehicles are in the mix, one yours and the other two belonging to your team. She ducks to the side, turning her face to you, her eyes wide with betrayal. “You _bitch_ ,” she hisses, dropping her grip on the tarp. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

“Just listen to me,” you hold up your hands. “Please, just listen.”

“I’ve been listening!” She yells, reaching under her shirt and grabbing her gun. She had it concealed perfectly. How did I not even see it? The blood in your veins turns to ice when she points it at you, cocking it. “I could shoot you right here. You think I didn’t plan this scenario out in my mind?”

Your own gun is still sitting snugly on your back, heavy and waiting for you to grab it. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you kill me, the deal I just told you about goes away.”

“Aren’t you listening to me? I’m not gonna get caught. I’m smarter than that.”

“They have the entire place surrounded,” you blurt, making her freeze. “Roadblocks set up at every street. You can’t escape.” You pause, whispering, “I’m sorry, Savannah. But it’s over.”

“It’ll never be over. You’re no better than the rest of them,” she says lowly, raising her gun again, and you flinch. If you reach for your gun, you’re as good as dead. You have no doubt that she’d shoot you instantly. You’re stuck. “You just want to silence me. Put me away instead of putting the abusers away!”

“I want to put the abusers away too, trust me, I do. But I can’t do that if I’m dead, and neither can you. Which is why you have to stop killing people--”

“I’m not killing _people_ , I’m killing _monsters_!”

“Then when is it supposed to stop?” You scream back at her. “There’s monsters all over the world. When does it stop? When do you let yourself rest?”

She’s strangely quiet for a moment. After a moment, she mutters, “I’ll rest when I’m dead.” And fires her gun.

Pain blossoms in your left thigh, but it takes you a second to feel it because you had expected her to keep her aim directly at your heart.

You hit the ground less than a second later, a groan of pain coming from your chest. Somewhere through the haze, your hand remembers to press on the device, frantic buzzing no doubt hitting Hotch’s ears. The plan was for three buzzes, but you’re positive you just hit fifteen.

Savannah steps over and rips the device from your hand and your clothes, tossing it against the wall and watching it shatter. You reach behind your back for your gun, but she sends a blow to your chest with her heel that knocks you over. Your arm shoots out to soften the fall onto your hurt leg, but all it does is jam the shit out of your wrist.

“I didn’t want to do this,” she tsks her tongue, kicking you again, right in the ribs, knocking all the air from your lungs. It sends you onto your back, the concrete biting into the back of your skull, rattling your brain. You’ve definitely got a concussion from that, and the stars you’re seeing are proof. “I really wanted us to be a team.”

Distantly, you hear footsteps coming closer, pounding like they’re running, but you’re not sure if you’re hallucinating. 

Savannah’s boot presses over your bulletwound, sending white spikes of pain right up your spine. A nauseating squish of blood warms your leg. Shit, that’s... _that’s a lot._

You look back up at her, words failing you when she raises her gun, this time aiming for your forehead. This is the end, huh? You think. You’re too tired to fight, too disoriented, too...cold-- Wait. Why are you starting to feel cold?

Savannah’s saying something, still standing over you, gun pointed at your head, but her words are so far away. _You_ feel far away. Like you’re falling through the floor, down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. Maybe Wonderland is where you go after this. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wonderland as the afterlife destination. If you could choose, you think you’d want to be there. Not here. Anywhere but right here--

A gunshot rings in your ears again, but you feel nothing. Your eyes closed, and you think, am I dead? Is death supposed to feel like nothing?

Warm hands find your face a moment later, shaking you, tapping your cheeks. Your eyelids feel like they weigh a ton as you raise them, finding Aaron’s face staring back at you. And all you can think is I’m dreaming. I have to be.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?” That’s what his lips say, at least. You don’t actually hear him. There’s an awful ringing in your ears from both gunshots and probably a concussion, maybe the blood loss, too. So much happened, so much happened that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Aaron…” You say slowly, taking in a deep breath, but it’s shallow at best, a sharp pain in your ribs cutting it off. 

He’s yelling for the paramedics, you think, you’re not even sure. They should be here by now. They were just outside, weren’t they?

Dull pressure is on your wound and one glance tells you that it’s Aaron’s hand, pressing hard, trying to stop the bleeding, but you’ve lost a lot. It’s...everywhere.

But some of it is Savannah’s. A bullet hit her in the stomach, a result of her refusing to move her gun from your forehead. Morgan had a shot, and he had orders from Hotch to take it.

Aaron’s other hand is on your face, turning your eyes back to his. He’s moving his lips again, trying to say something, but you can’t hear him. You wish you could hear him, hear his voice just one last time.

“Aaron,” you think you say, or you’re trying to, you’re trying _so hard_. “Aaron...I don’t wanna go without-- I need to tell you that I--”

He shakes his head, eyes glassy, lips parted, shushing you, willing you not to use your breath. But you keep going.

“I love you,” you try to say, and you hope you get it out. You want him to know. You need him to know. “I love you so...so much. It hurts.”

He isn’t sure what you mean. If the wound hurts or if it hurts to love him, but he can’t ask. Because your eyes have closed, your body giving up the fight of consciousness.

He tries to wake you. But you’re not here anymore.

You’re falling. Down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland.


	22. I can't imagine a world with you gone

Everything is a blur in Hotch’s mind before _and_ after the first gunshot rings through the air. He didn’t need to hear the buzzing in his ear to know it had hit you.

He took off at a sprint, as did the rest of the team.

His ears are ringing. His thoughts are racing. He’s never been a man who talks frequently to God, but he’s _praying_. Hoping you’re alive. Begging you to not be dead.

Aaron would never forgive himself if you died. As it stands, though, he won’t ever forgive himself for this.

Prentiss, Reid, and Rossi take off in one direction. Hotch and Morgan take the other. Police officers fill the gaps and follow behind, everyone searching for you and Savannah.

Morgan is the first to stumble on the room. His throat aches when he screams for Hotch, keeping his weapon aimed at Savannah.

“Put the gun down!” Morgan yells.

Hotch comes skidding to a stop in the doorway a second later, weapon raised, but his eyes are focused on you. Savannah’s boot is pressing into your thigh, blood oozing from your wound, soaking your pants, spilling onto the concrete. Hotch’s heart drops at the sight. He’s seen enough bullet wounds to know how much blood should come from them. That is too much.

The bullet must’ve hit the major artery. And the thought terrifies him.

Morgan takes the shot when Savannah refuses to move. It hits her stomach and she stumbles for a moment before falling. Morgan yells for the paramedics again, distantly thinking they should be in here by now.

Hotch falls to the ground beside you, his hands cupping your face, not caring who sees. His thumbs tap your cheeks, willing you to open your eyes. You have a pulse, but it’s weak. Weaker than what it should be.

He presses hard over your wound, hoping to slow the bleeding, but there’s more surrounding your leg than he wants to see.

“Y/N?” He says, his eyes watching your eyelids for any movement. He lets out a momentary sigh of relief when your eyes open. “Y/N, please, can you hear me?”

You stare back at him, no signs of his words registering in your eyes. They’re empty. Haunted, again, but for a different reason this time. This time it’s different. “Aaron…”

“I’m here,” Hotch says gently, pressing his hand harder, his heart breaking when you groan in pain. “I know,” he says, shushing you.

Your eyes travel around the room then, and Aaron follows. Morgan is pressing his hand over Savannah’s wound, speaking into his wrist, asking the others where the hell the paramedics are at.

But Aaron doesn’t want you to see that, so he cups your jaw again, turning your eyes back on him. He smiles as best he can, the tears beginning to spill from his eyes as he takes in your face.

“There’s my girl,” he says softly. “Keep holding on. They’re almost here.”

“Aaron,” you try to say, your voice low and strained, and Aaron shakes his head, trying to get you to stop talking. “Aaron...I don’t wanna go without-- I need to tell you that I--”

“Shhh,” he tries again, not wanting you to waste any energy. “You don’t need to.”

“I love you,” you finally get it out. And he’s stunned to complete silence and tears. “I love you so...so much. It hurts.”

“Y/N,” he says, panicked. Your eyes are closing. “Y/N! Come back, Y/N, come back to me. Y/N. _Y/N, please_.”

Hotch is too caught up in holding your face and keeping pressure on your wound to notice the paramedics have arrived. One team goes to Savannah, relieving Morgan, while the other comes to you, trying to usher Hotch away, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Hotch,” Morgan tugs on the unit chief, grabbing at his arms, his heart breaking for the both of you. “Hotch, you need to let them get to her.”

Reluctantly, Hotch backs up, clenching his bloodied fist, grimacing at the way your blood sticks his skin together.

Everything else is a blur.

What does it need to be clear for, anyway? If you’re not here?

+++

You’re still in surgery.

It’s been an hour. But it feels longer. It feels like it’s been an entire twenty-four hours.

The entire team has taken up camp in a waiting room at the hospital.

Reid is reading and rereading every magazine he can get his hands on to distract himself, never mind the fact that he reads them so fast that he rips a page on one from turning it so quickly. Morgan has Garcia on the phone and has left to get coffee at least three times, the first time returning with a tray of steaming cups and the next two times returning with only one, but two tearful eyes. Emily has been pacing and will wear a hole into the tile at this rate if she walks for another hour. JJ has been staring at the wall, chewing so hard on the inside of her cheek that she flinches when she draws blood.

Rossi has been staring at the wall, too, but mostly he’s been worrying about and watching Hotch.

Aaron has been biting his nails, tugging at his hair, angrily wiping away tears, and left once to go on a walk before returning two minutes later, asking if they had heard anything. Those two minutes had felt like two hours and he was worried sick for all 120 seconds that he missed something.

Dave hasn’t tried to say anything to Aaron, though he wants to. It’s heartbreaking to watch Aaron like this.

You’re going to pull through. Dave — and the rest of the team — can’t afford to think otherwise. And they refuse to think otherwise, unable to imagine what it would be like if you weren’t here.

But it seems like Aaron is thinking otherwise.

Truthfully, he is. But he’s thinking about so much more.

You love him. You _love_ him. _You_ love _him_.

And he was too stunned to say it back. The one chance he had, and it might be gone now. Ripped away. Forever.

He sent you in there. He did this to you. He had his reservations, but the call had already been made. You seemed so sure. You wanted to do this so badly. He didn’t want another fight about him not trusting you because it’s not about his trust for you, it’s about how terrified he was for you.

He’ll never forgive himself for this now. Not ever.

It’s a world he can’t even bear to imagine. One without you in it.

Yet here he is, grappling with the fact that he might not have to imagine it soon. He sent you in there. He knowingly put your life in danger. And now he’ll have to live with the consequences.

+++

Aaron is shaken from his trance by the doctor and a nurse coming in to inform the team that you’re out of surgery and that it went well.

But you’re in the ICU.

“She lost a great deal of blood,” the doctor says gravely. “But we think she’ll pull through. She just needs to be watched closely for the time being.”

Everyone nods silently, not sure of what else to say, other than feeling relief that you’re alive.

“Visiting hours are long over, so I recommend you all get some rest,” the nurse says. “She’s in good hands here.”

“Thank you,” Rossi replies.

The doctor excused himself, but the nurse stayed, offering to answer any extra questions. “Visiting hours start at seven a.m.,” she says first. “And in the ICU, only two visitors are allowed in her room at a time.” She doesn’t voice an apology, but one is in her tone as she glances between the six team members.

“Can I stay?” Hotch blurts out of nowhere. The team member’s heads all turn to look at him in surprise. “Can anyone stay the night, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah,” the nurse nods. “One person can.” Her eyebrows furrow sincerely. “Are you her dad?”

Morgan internalizes a snort.

“No,” Hotch replies kindly. “I’m not, but I’d like to stay. I’m her boss.”

Still the nurse looks skeptical. “Would she be okay with—”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Emily blurts out, tired of waiting. And when Hotch sends her a look, she says, “What? It would’ve taken you hours to say it.”

“Oh,” the nurse chuckles, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Yes, of course you can stay.”

Hotch lets a tiny smile shine through, but it’s not much. Truth is, he’s terrified to see you. But leaving you here alone – even if this is a hospital – terrifies him more.

The rest of the team says goodbye to head back to the hotel for some much-needed rest, if they can sleep at all. They know they’ll wake every couple hours to worry about you before sleep consumes them once more.

In the meantime, Hotch will be here to look after you for all of them. You’re like a little sister to the rest of them, even though Morgan is the only one to have voiced that. You’re loved here. Loved more than you’ll ever be able to comprehend.

You’re loved by Aaron much more than he’ll ever be able to articulate to you. But he’ll try. He’ll try to help you see.

+++

Hotch is finally walking to your room in the ICU after another half hour of waiting. The nurse said they had to get everything settled in your room before he could come back, which only made Hotch’s worry spike even more.

But eventually, he’s in your room with you. A pillow and blanket is in the chair by the window, but he’s not paying attention to it.

You. You’re asleep, of course, and probably will be for a few more hours. The nurse said you had already woken up once, but because of the pain medicine and the overall stress your body has been under in the past few hours, you fell back to sleep almost instantly.

Tears well in his eyes at the sight of you, laid up in the hospital bed, IVs and wires all over you. The beeping of the heart monitor is the only real sign to him that you’re even alive. Your chest is rising and falling, but it’s barely visible underneath the gown and blankets and wires.

You have one regular IV placed on the top of your left hand. Some other line is in your upper arm, and another in your wrist. He has no idea what they’re all for, he just knows he hates seeing you connected to so much.

Aaron wipes at his eyes angrily. Does he have a right to be this upset when he’s the one who sent you in there?

He turns and sets the pillow and blankets in the other chair, knowing he won’t sleep tonight even if he wanted to. Instead, he pulls the chair closer to your bed, where he can place his hand next to yours.

And, if you happen to wake up, you can reach for him if you need to.

+++

Three hours pass and you still haven’t woken up. Aaron knows. He’s been watching you the entire time.

The nurses have come to check on you a few times, assuring Aaron that it’s normal for you to be sleeping like this. But he just nods silently.

He wants you to wake up. Just for a minute. He needs you to just open your eyes and look at him, just once. That’s all he needs.

But it’s wishful thinking as the sky begins to lighten, showing the first signs of dawn.

Aaron links his pinky with yours, afraid to do much else and risk messing up your IV. Holding pinky fingers is enough right now. Or at least, it’ll have to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, to you, or really to no one at all, because he’s not even sure you can hear him. “I’m just so... _sorry_ , Y/N.”

Stupid tears gather in his eyes again, clogging his throat, stopping his words.

But he keeps going.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “And I know you’ll try to convince me that it’s not, but Y/N, it is and I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

He leans his head into the palm of his free hand, tightening his pinky finger’s grip on yours.

“I love you,” he blurts it out, tears warming his palm as they cascade down his cheeks. “I love you and I need you to wake up because I need you to hear it. I love you. I don’t think there’s ever been a day that I’ve known you that I haven’t loved you.”

He sniffles, loud and body-rattling, glad he’s alone in this room with you because he’d never let anyone else see him like this. No one but you.

“I tried to get it out before, but you were already gone, and I— You need to wake up. I need you to wake up. Please.”

Aaron keeps his eyes closed and head down for a few minutes longer. He doesn’t even see that you’ve opened your eyes.

Until your pinky finger gently squeezes his.

He lifts his head quickly, eyes wide and wild when he sees you’re looking back at him, eyes glassy with tears and exhaustion.

And just like that, just seeing your eyes open and looking right at him, the dam breaks once more. He’s a mess of tears when he leans his head down onto the bed. You lift your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes as more tears slip down your cheeks.

You scratch a soothing pattern on the base of his skull, moving your other hand over your body to hold onto his arm. He senses the movement and lifts his head, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his lips.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, all he knows is his back aches when he straightens up again, and you’ve fallen back asleep.


	23. And I was catching my breath

Guilt.

Guilt is one son of a bitch.

You’re not particularly in any pain when you wake up, thanks to the pain meds they must be giving you and the fact that your nerves are so shot that you don’t think you’ll be feeling anything for a while. You’ll probably block it out. Just like you did when you were nineteen.

You’ve done it again already, apparently. For the life of you, you can’t recall what happened. You’re aware Savannah shot you, that much you can piece together because you doubt one of your teammates would. But as for the conversation the two of you shared, it’s blank. It’s a messy blur. You don’t even remember being in the ambulance.

But you remember telling Aaron how you feel. How you love him. That one moment is crystal clear in its hysteria.

And you do remember him telling you he feels the same, just last night (really only a few hours ago) with his forehead on the hospital bed next to your leg. 

Currently, he’s snoring.

It’s adorable, in a way. You’re very glad he’s sleeping, even if he looks uncomfortable as hell. The pillow and blanket are still stacked neatly on the other chair, so he’s just leaned back in his chair, hand resting on your hospital bed and his head lolling to one side.

You haven’t moved since you woke up, knowing that even the smallest movement would wake him instantly. And you know him, so you know this is probably the first time he’s slept since you got here.

You’re also a little afraid to move more than your hand or arms. You feel sore. Like you felt after you rolled your car when you were seventeen – well, it was your mom’s car, but you were the one driving. You didn’t break anything (miraculously), but you were in the hospital overnight that time, hooked up to all kinds of shit because you were in shock and had a concussion. So you’re no stranger to the situation you’re currently in.

A knock on the door has Hotch flinching awake, straightening up and clearing his throat to see the nurse entering the room.

Her name is Catharina and she has the brightest smile, which is exactly what you need right now. 

“You’re awake!” She beams, walking over to check all of the various machines around you (that you have no idea what all they’re monitoring, but you think you’d rather not know). 

“What time is it?” You ask.

“Almost seven-thirty,” she replies. “The rest of your team is in the waiting room now.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

She nods, smiling gently. “They’re eager to come in, but I wanted you to be awake before they did. Do you need anything?”

“Some water?” You question, wondering if you can even have that right now.

“Of course,” she says. “What number would you say your pain is at right now?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Maybe a four? More discomfort than anything.”

“Understandable,” she nods. “Let me know if it gets worse, okay? I’ll go get that water for you and after we’ll see how you feel about a visitor.”

“Thank you,” you say as she walks out. Once she’s gone, you turn your head to look at Aaron. “Morning sleeping beauty,” you tease. “Did you know you snore like a thunderstorm?”

Aaron is clearly still waking up. “What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, wiggling your fingers in silent request for his hand. He places his palm under your fingers, letting you squeeze him gently. “Just something my mom used to say about me.”

“You? Snoring?” He murmurs through a small smile. “I’ll look out for that.”

“Please. I’ll be awake recording you snoring.”

He laughs then, knowing it’s true, and relieved to see you joking like this. Your eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, and he knows you’ll probably fall asleep again soon, but for now he’s thankful you’re alive and talking to him.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, knowing you’ve been waiting for the question to escape his lips.

“I’m okay,” you answer.

He doesn’t look at all convinced. “Y/N, you were shot.”

“And surprisingly, I’m okay,” you smile warily. “Really, I am. The pain meds are working wonders. I’m exhausted, but I guess that’s normal and I’m used to that.” You pause. “I’m okay. I don’t really wanna talk about it and make myself not okay, you know?”

He nods. “Okay.” He squeezes your hand gently.

You pucker your lips, silently asking for a kiss. He complies, grinning when you keep your lips like that, wanting more and more and more, making up for lost time.

Until Catharina comes back, but thankfully she knocks again, giving Aaron time to sit back in his chair.

After drinking some water (slowly, even though you feel so parched), Catharina says she’ll send one of the team members in.

A few moments later, Rossi comes in, a vase of flowers in hand. “How you feeling, kiddo?” 

Rossi hands Hotch the flowers, and Hotch stands to set them on the windowsill. Rossi leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s such a sweet gesture that you don’t expect, especially given the short amount of time that you’ve even known Rossi.

You smile softly at him. “I’m okay. Tired. Sore.”

Rossi nods. “At least they’ve got you on some good pain meds,” he gestures to the IV.

“Yeah,” you say. You move your eyes to Hotch who is still standing by the window, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. “You should change. Put something comfier on.”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m fine.”

You give Rossi a pleading look.

“How about I drive you back to the hotel?” Rossi asks, turning slightly to face Hotch. “You can take a shower, change clothes.” He shrugs.

Hotch shakes his head at Rossi, then turns to look at you, only to find you’re pouting. His face softens and his arms uncross, never being able to say no to you when you look at him like that.

“Please,” you murmur. “You need to change. And shower. You stink.”

Aaron gives you a tired stare. “Fine.” He steps forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, but only pecks. “I’ll shower and change, but I’ll be right back.”

Behind him, Rossi mouths, “I got this,” which lets you know he’s going to drive slowly and talk to Aaron about anything and everything. It’ll piss Aaron off, no doubt, but it’ll also give him time to take a good shower and get a break from the hospital.

It also gives the rest of the team a chance to spend some time with you, instead of Aaron hogging your bedside the entire time. 

“Bring me one of your shirts please,” you call out, batting your eyelashes one more time for good measure. 

Aaron smiles, a small blush creeping up his cheeks. “Okay.”

Rossi practically drags Hotch out of there and down the hall to the elevator. 

You lean your head back against the pillows, shutting your eyes. The pull of sleep is hard to fight against, and soon you’ve drifted off completely.

+++

Rossi is driving too slow. Aaron can tell. He’s going exactly the speed limit, which is not something David Rossi ever does when he’s behind the wheel of a vehicle.

Aaron almost speaks up about it, but decides not to, knowing it would cause some sort of accusatory comment from Dave. And Aaron really isn’t in the mood for anything like that right now.

Yet, somehow, even though Dave senses Aaron’s mood, Dave still starts a conversation. “How are you doing?” And he starts it with the exact question Aaron doesn’t know the answer to right now.

So, Aaron says, “Fine,” and goes back to typing out a text message to your mother. He got her number from Garcia last night, but he didn’t want to call at such a late hour and disturb your mom’s sleep. It’s nine a.m. there now, so he thinks it’s a good time to send a text asking if he can call her.

Something about “your daughter was shot, but she’s alive, she’s in the ICU at Arlington Memorial in Texas” doesn’t feel right in a text message.

Hotch sends the text and pockets his phone and focuses on the road.

Rossi glances over at his friend and sighs. “You didn’t sleep.”

Aaron shrugs. “I got a couple hours.” He pauses. “The nurses were in an out,” he uses them as an excuse.

“Hm,” Dave nods. “But you didn’t use the pillow or blanket.”

Aaron shakes his head. “Are you profiling me?”

“I’ve known you long enough that I don’t even need to, Aaron,” Dave deadpans. “I get it you’re worried, but you can’t exhaust yourself. She’s in good hands.”

“Yes, thank you, that’s what everyone has been saying.”

Dave ignores Aaron’s tone. “Because she is. She’s in the best place she can be right now, and from what I just saw, she’s doing good. She’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Aaron mutters. “I know.”

“Then why do you have that frown on your face?” Dave presses. “Something obviously didn’t go wrong between you two because you kissed her multiple times. She asked for one of your shirts. So, what’s going on?”

Aaron should’ve known this car ride was a trap. “Nothing.” It’s not that much farther to the hotel. He can fight off Dave until then.

He thinks.

“I don’t buy it,” Dave shakes his head. “Something is bugging you and you need to let it out. You know I’m not going to stop asking.”

“I’m well aware.”

The silence in the car is the loudest silence Aaron has ever experienced – next to the silence that followed the first gunshot last night. That was the loudest silence Aaron has ever heard and felt, and probably the loudest he will ever hear in his entire life. It was suffocating. It was paralyzing. It was the arrival of Death.

“Aaron…” Dave tries again.

Aaron blinks, realizing his cheeks are wet and warm. Hastily, he wipes the moisture away, scrubbing his palms on his pants. Dave is right. It’ll eat him alive. It already is.

“It’s my fault.”

Dave keeps driving. Waiting for Aaron to continue.

He doesn’t.

“You’re not the unsub, Aaron,” Dave says. “It’s not your fault.”

“I sent her in there. I should’ve shut it down. I should’ve never agreed to it.”

“We had no other choice,” Dave argues. “It had been months, Aaron, and the kills were only escalating. We had to take the chance.”

“But I never should’ve sent her in there alone.”

“That’s what the unsub wanted. That was the deal.”

“Dave, I shouldn’t have agreed to it. That’s my point. This is on me.”

“It’s not on you and you know it,” Dave snaps. “You were acting as any unit chief would. A plan was made. It was a good chance, a better chance than we’ve had in the two weeks we’ve been here, so we took it. I know you love her. But you still need to be professional and unbiased, and you did that yesterday. You put your trust in her as an agent and she delivered. It’s the unsub’s fault, Aaron. Not yours. You didn’t pull that trigger on her.”

“I might as well have,” Aaron replies, obviously ignoring everything else Dave has said to him.

“Are you going to do this every time she gets hurt?” Dave asks bluntly, and when Aaron shoots him a glare, he says, “No, really. Are you going to act this way every single time something goes wrong? Because if you are, you need to rethink things. For yourself. I know her, and I know she wouldn’t want you blaming yourself like this. She’s probably blaming herself, deep down. But neither of you are at fault here, and you are going to have to understand that. Is your love for her going to jeopardize your work performance?”

“No,” Aaron says quickly. “It won’t.”

“Maybe it won’t, but right now it’s hurting you. And you can’t do that to yourself. So stop blaming yourself for actions that you had zero control over.”

Dave pulls into the hotel parking lot, parking the car, and killing the engine. Aaron stares straight ahead, taking in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he finally says.

“Anytime,” Dave says gently. “Come on. You need to shower.”

+++

The next time you open your eyes, you’re met with Derek’s smiling face.

“Hey kiddo,” he says. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” you breathe, yawning. “How long have you been there?”

“Just half an hour,” he answers. “The others went to get breakfast while you slept. I didn’t wanna leave you all alone.”

You smile. “Thank you.”

“You good?” He asks, and you know it’s what he wanted to say when you first opened your eyes. “Feeling any pain?”

You shake your head a little. “Just sore. Feel like I got in a bad car wreck.”

Derek chuckles. “Really? You got shot and you just feel like you got in a wreck?”

“Yep,” you grin. “I rolled my mom’s car when I was 17. Felt like shit after. Like this.”

Derek shakes his head through another laugh. “You’re something else, kid.”

“Thank you,” you beam, loving that it makes him laugh even more. You missed him. “So,” you exhale, “how mad are you?”

“Mad?” He questions, exasperated. “I am not mad at you at all.”

“Not even a little?”

“Kid, I am just happy you’re alive,” he whispers, eyes going soft. “You know I don’t scare easily.” You nod. “But I was scared,” he admits. “Real scared.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Hey, it is not something you need to apologize for,” he reaches over and rests his hand on yours. “You don’t need to say sorry about anything.”

“Okay,” you whisper, more like mouth the word, fighting through the lump in your throat and the heaviness in your eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” Derek says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay,” you say again, eyes already closing.

Derek watches your breathing slow as exhaustion takes over your body once more. But you look peaceful, and that’s all he could ever ask for.


	24. Long story short, I survived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am SO sorry for not posting this sooner!! I also post this fic on my Tumblr, and I completely forgot to upload this chapter here too (it happens haha). The good news though is that you guys get this chapter today AND a new one on Friday! xx.

Hotch’s phone rings while he’s in the middle of the shower. He lets it continue ringing, but then it happens again, immediately after a voicemail, so he hops out of the shower to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Aaron? Thank God, where are you? Are you with her?”

It’s your mother. Shit. He forgot he had sent that text before he jumped in the shower. 

“Hi Mrs. L/N, please, calm down, everything is okay,” he says first, grabbing his towel off the counter and drying his hair. He didn’t wash his hair, but it’s fine. “I do have bad news, but first and foremost, Y/N is okay. She’s alive.”

 _“Alive?”_ Your mother nearly screams. “Aaron Hotchner, you better tell me what is going on right this minute before I—”

“Y/N was shot,” he interrupts, eyes closing from the pain of just saying it aloud, admitting that it happened on his watch. “In her left thigh. The bullet nicked the major artery and she lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable and awake now. She’s okay.”

“Where is she?”

Aaron hears rustling on the other end and furrows his eyebrows. “Arlington Memorial Hospital in Texas. Why? What are you doing?”

“Booking a flight to Texas, what does it sound like I’m doing?”

“Mrs. L/N, she’s okay. I can have her call you when I get back to the hospital, but you don’t need to spend money on a flight.”

“With all due respect, Aaron, I’m coming to see my daughter. I don’t care if she’s alright _now_. I need to see her.”

“I understand,” Aaron says softly. “At least let me give you my credit card for the flight.” He walks back into his room, grabbing his wallet from the bed before your mother has a chance to answer.

“What?”

Aaron is already fishing his credit card out of his wallet. “I’m giving you my credit card. Flights are expensive.”

“Aaron—”

“Please, let me,” he says. “Please. It’s all I can do right now, so just— Let me.”

“Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“One second.”

After relaying the numbers and getting confirmation from her that the flight is booked – it leaves in a few hours – Aaron ends the call to put fresh clothes on.

He foregoes the suit in favor of jeans and a t-shirt, remembering you asked for one of his shirts, so he folds one up and puts it next to his wallet, so he won’t forget it.

He’s in the middle of texting Rossi to let him know he’s ready when a different call comes through on his phone.

“Shit,” he mutters, pressing answer. “This is Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” Erin Strauss says it like she’s surprised to find him on the other end. “I just heard about Agent L/N. How is she?”

“She’s okay, she’s currently in the ICU, in and out of sleep, but she’s going to be just fine,” Hotch replies. “Thank you for calling.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Erin pauses. “How long will Y/N be in the hospital?”

“I’m not sure,” Aaron shakes his head. “Why?”

“Because you and your team are being summoned,” she replies, which never means well. “The Use-Of-Force Reports are due soon, and the BJS is making a special visit here tomorrow. And they want to speak to all of you. Minus Y/N, of course. She’s exempt due to the circumstances.”

“Okay,” Hotch says, exhaling deeply, knowing he has no other option besides to agree, even though he’d rather say he can take a phone call with the Bureau of Justice Statistics so he could stay here. “Okay, we’ll be there.”

It wouldn’t be a bad idea, actually, taking a phone call with the BJS instead.

+++

But when Hotch tells you this, you obviously don’t agree.

“You have to go back,” you tell him sternly. “You said my mom will be here later. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says quietly, fingers wrapped around yours, and he’s glad for the team giving the two of you some privacy.

“I’m gonna be okay,” you murmur, your eyes watering because his are getting glassy. “Don’t cry. Don’t make me cry. Stop it.”

He chuckles, says, “Sorry,” as he wipes his tears away.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies almost instantly, grabbing your hand to kiss your knuckles. “Always.”

You snicker. “Nice _Harry Potter_ reference.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What?”

You stare back at him, blinking a few times. “Seriously? Okay, we’re watching all eight movies while I’m out of work. I mean it.”

He laughs at that, not wanting to admit that he can’t wait until he can have endless movie nights with you. “Okay. We can do that.”

“But we can’t if you don’t get out of here and go meet with the BJS tomorrow,” you remind him. “We don’t need Strauss getting suspicious of us already.”

“I know,” he says, sighing in defeat. “I know.”

“So, _go_ ,” you smile gently. “I’ll be okay. You can call me anytime. I’ll answer. Unless I’m asleep. Then my mom will probably answer. And apparently, she loves talking to you.”

He shakes his head through another laugh. “She does. But in her defense, I like talking to her, too.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” you warn. “She’ll never stop. I got that from her.”

“And I’m glad,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your knuckles. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop talking to me.”

You shake your head. “I won’t. Ever.”

A knock on the door pulls the two of you apart.

Catharina flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m bending the rules a little and letting everyone come in for a few minutes.” She holds the door open and you grin as Morgan, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Reid file in. “I heard you guys have to head back soon, so I figured I’d help save time.”

“Thank you,” you say sincerely.

“Just a few minutes though, okay?” Catharina says, looking at everyone. “I don’t need to get in trouble.”

“And neither do they,” you add, turning your head to give Aaron another stern look. “It’ll be fine. You guys should go.”

“Excuse me,” Morgan scoffs, walking to the other side of your bed. “Not without saying goodbye.” He moves his arm to begin messing up your hair – typical Morgan.

“Duh,” you laugh, swatting him away, wincing when you move too fast and your ribs ache. “Damn. Bruised ribs are no joke.”

“Quit moving then,” Morgan jokes, but you can hear the underlying seriousness, leaning down to press a kiss to your head. “You’ll have all the time in the world to smack me when you’re better.”

“I can’t wait,” you grin.

Hotch’s hand squeezes yours. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, hugs from the rest of us,” Emily teases, gently shoving Hotch out of the way to give you a half-hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep him busy.”

“Would you please?” You plead, ignoring the look of betrayal you get from your boyfriend.

“You got it,” Rossi chimes with a nod, earning a tired look from Hotch.

JJ gives you a hug on the other side, smoothing your hair from your face. “I’m not gonna cry,” she says through a laugh.

“Don’t do it,” you warn. “Because if you start, then I’ll start, and then we’ll all be a mess.”

Everyone laughs at that. Because you’re right. But also because you’re in such good spirits that they’re relieved.

The only one who hasn’t hugged you yet is Spencer. And quite frankly, he looks terrified to even step another inch closer to you, even though he’s standing against the wall, as far as possible from your bed.

“Spence,” you murmur.

His eyebrows raise to show you that you have his attention.

“C’mere,” you nod your head.

He walks over slowly and stands by you, not bending down to hug you, which is fine. You know how he is, and you don’t expect that to change, especially not when you’re in the hospital.

“I’m okay, Spence,” you say quietly, wondering if that’s what has him so spooked.

He nods. “I know.”

“Then I’m gonna need you to smile,” you reach up to grab his cardigan, tugging on it like a child. “You’re not allowed to frown right now.”

He chuckles and smiles a little bit. “I don’t actually think that’s how human emotions work.”

“Well that’s how it works for now,” you tease. “Come on.”

He nods again, and you can tell he’s trying not to cry.

Which is why it surprises you so much when he bends down and hugs you. It’s not a half-hug, either. He buries his face into the pillow behind your head, his arms holding you tight as he whispers in your ear, “I’ve never been so glad for my statistics to be wrong.”

You don’t say anything in reply, knowing he doesn’t need anything and neither do you. But you smile, silently telling him that you’re glad, too.

The team leaves after one more round of goodbyes, giving you some time with Aaron. One last moment before he has to get on a plane and leave.

He sits down in the chair by your bed, taking your hand, but being careful of the IV.

“Your mom should be getting in soon,” he says, only trying to fill the silence because he really doesn’t want to go. “She said she’d text you when she lands.”

“Okay,” you reply. “Thank you.”

He goes quiet, just staring at you, eyes watering. You give him a look, fighting through the tears that are pricking the backs of your eyes.

“Stop it,” you murmur, sniffling hard. “Stop it, Aaron.”

He shakes his head and tears fall freely down his cheeks. “I can’t help it.”

“I know.” You give up on trying to hold back your tears, letting them fall, but he wipes them away gently with his thumbs. You reach up and hold onto his wrist, keeping his palm there, cradling your face.

“I thought I lost you,” he says, voice cracking and breaking on every syllable. “I thought you were gone.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I thought I was too, and I wasn’t ready.”

That breaks his heart far more than anything else. You must’ve been so scared, lying there, bleeding out, barely aware of him kneeling over you.

“It’s okay,” he says, for the both of you. He leans his forehead into yours and says it again. “It’s okay.”

You nod slowly, but a broken sob tears through your chest, followed by a gasp because damn these bruised ribs. 

“Shhh,” he tries to calm you, knowing it’ll hurt you more if you keep crying. “It’s okay.”

Eventually, your tears subside and you’re able to breathe without sucking in air so fast that your ribs protest.

“Okay,” you murmur. “I’m okay. You should go.”

“Y/N—”

“Hotch, you need to go before I ask you to stay,” you say quickly. “Because you and I both know that if I ask you to stay – and I will – that you won’t get on the jet, and then we’ll be in a whole load of trouble when Strauss asks why you wanted to stay with me when my mom was already going to be here.”

He knows your right. But he doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to ask him to stay, so he can just stay.

But you don’t. “Go,” you say, adding a small shove on his arm, as much as you can muster up enough strength for right now. “Go. Please.”

He gives you one last look before he nods. “Okay.”

One more longing, lingering kiss, and then he’s out the door and down the hall to join the rest of the team.

The morphine makes you fall asleep before you can start crying again.


	25. Touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! Oral (f receiving), begging, kind of fluff smut, but the Daddy kink is alive and well folks, unprotected sex

_One week later_

“Come on, if you’d just get off _right here_ —And now it’s gone!”

The exit needed to get off the interstate and head toward the BAU passes by as quick as lightning as your mom drives at almost 85mph in the far-left lane.

“Because you have strict orders not to be anywhere near the office for at least another month!” Your mom argues, rolling her eyes at how you dramatically threw yourself back against the passenger seat of the rental car. “They can come visit you at your apartment, honey.”

“But it’ll be hours before they’re done with work,” you groan, well aware of how childish you must sound and look right now. “Please?”

“No,” your mom laughs, shaking her head. “I’m taking you home and they can come visit later.”

She’s put up her wall and she’s not budging.

So, like a child, you cross your arms over your chest and say, “Fine.”

Little do you know, the team isn’t at the office right now. They’re at your apartment.

Penelope had the idea because she felt so bad that she wasn’t there, and she has been worried sick about you since. Everyone else loved the idea and Hotch had no objections. He had already been texting your mom (secretly, of course) about going over to your apartment and doing some tidying so it wouldn’t be its usual mess when you returned, so all you would have to do is relax while you healed.

The surprise on your face when your apartment door opens before you can get the key in the lock is priceless. And it’s even more priceless when you see who opened the door.

“Aaron!” You squeal, dropping your crutch (because despite your insistence that you were fine, the hospital still sent you home with one crutch to lean on) and flinging yourself into his arms. 

He stumbles, but regains his footing, careful not to hold you too tight because of your bruised ribs. “Hi, sweet girl,” he murmurs into your ear, only for you to hear. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” you argue, burying your face in his neck, taking as deep a breath as your ribs will allow. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Alright, don’t hog her!” Morgan yells from further inside your apartment.

It’s only a one-bedroom apartment, so it’s small, and definitely nowhere near big enough for the big party of people you have in here right now. But you don’t care. You’d shove things against the walls and make a big pallet of blankets in the living room floor for all of them to sleepover.

Aaron sets you down and grabs your crutch, turning to hand it back to you, but you’re already wrapping your arms around Morgan’s neck.

Aaron looks to your mom for help, but she only shrugs. “She nearly threw that thing out the window on the highway.”

“Of course she did,” Aaron chuckles, leaning it against the wall. He won’t force you to use it, but he would feel better if you did. At least right now you’re at home.

You’re passed around the living room for hugs from JJ, Emily, Spencer, Rossi, and Penelope who holds you the longest.

“I was scared to death,” she says, squeezing you tightly. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay? Not okay. Not allowed.”

“Okay,” you laugh, welcoming her third hug. You’ve missed her hugs. She arguably gives the best hugs out of the entire team – yes, even above Aaron’s. “I promise. No more scares.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I know you will.”

Hotch watches on with a smile, turning away only when your mom nudges his arm.

“You didn’t need to pay for the car, too, you know,” she glares at him, but it doesn’t hold any heat.

“It’s the least I could do,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave her.”

“I know,” your mom nods. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I don’t think I’ve seen her this happy in…well, a very long time. So, thank you.”

Aaron smiles softly. “I haven’t been this happy in a very long time, too. So, thank you for raising such an amazing daughter.”

Your mom scoffs, shaking her head to hide her teary eyes when she pulls him into a big hug, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Don’t steal my man!” You jokingly call from the couch (Morgan practically forced you to sit down to get off your leg).

Your mom turns her head, refusing to let go of Aaron. “I’m not, young lady. But I will gladly take him as a son-in-law.”

Your eyes widen and Aaron’s do too, and the two of you lock eyes for a moment before beginning to dissolve into laughter. Everyone else does too, especially when your mom starts laughing, too.

But your mind is reeling. _Marriage_. Marrying Aaron. You’ve never really thought about it. To be fair, you haven’t thought about marriage in general ever since Trevor. But Trevor was an awful, awful man.

Aaron isn’t. Aaron is a good man with a good heart. A rare find. And he’s _yours_.

You snap out of it when Morgan asks you if you’re falling asleep. And because you don’t want to say what you were thinking – at least not in front of everyone – you nod. “Maybe a little.” 

You do feel tired. It was a long drive, and your body has been through hell. You’ve slept a lot, but now is the time to catch up on sleep since you’ll be out of work for a couple months, at least.

That hasn’t sunk in yet either. That you won’t be working. Hotch (and the entire team, honestly) all but banned you from the BAU until you’re cleared. But if your mom hadn’t been driving earlier, you would’ve gone to the office. It’s not like you would be going out in the field or anything. Just dropping by.

Aaron would’ve scolded you and told you to go home, or asked to speak to you in his office, and neither of those sound terrible.

You need him. Badly.

But obviously you can’t go fuck your boyfriend real quick while the rest of the team (and your mother) is here.

Once they leave, though. You’re jumping him. You hope he’s prepared.

He can definitely feel your eyes on him because when he turns his head and sees your unwavering gaze, he only raises an eyebrow.

You’re hot all over already. _Dear God_. It’s only been a week and a half, but apparently that’s too long.

In the end, Morgan and Rossi are the two that herd the team out like cats. Aaron stays behind, of course, and so does your mom (who helps shove everyone out the door).

Once they’re gone, Aaron sits next to you on the couch, letting you stretch your legs out across his lap. His worried eyes search yours for any signs of pain, but you’re fine. Your leg aches, but you’ve had some pain pills, so you’re alright for now.

“Well,” your mom says from the kitchen, “I need to go to the grocery store.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

She closes the fridge dramatically. “You have nothing here, and I’m not leaving you with a barren pantry and fridge.” She grabs the keys for the rental car and her purse.

“Okay…” You reply slowly, feeling like she’s up to something. “Have fun, I guess?”

Your mom hates grocery shopping. Capital H Hates. She always has. But now she’s offering?

“You too,” she sings before she’s out the door.

Oh.

 _Oh_. Wow. Wonderful. You were that awful at hiding your heated looks that even your mother noticed. _Great_.

Aaron chuckles from beside you, the deep melody warming your ears, no doubt from reading the expression on your face when you realized.

You move your eyes back to him and give him more of a look. Might as well seize the moment. 

He raises his eyebrows. “No.”

You blink, clearly not expecting that response. “W…What?”

“No,” he repeats.

“No what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“Clearly I don’t, if I have to ask.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t be a brat about it, either.”

“But it’s been too long,” you practically whine. “Don’t deprive me.”

“You were shot, Y/N,” he says sternly. 

“And? What does that have anything to do with this?”

He stares at you even harder if that’s at all possible. But apparently it is, and it’s making you squirm. You see him holding back a smirk.

 _Bastard_.

“We wouldn’t have to do anything rough,” you say, trying to get him to budge. “Please?”

His face practically lights up. “Are you begging?”

 _Fuck_ _it_. “Yes.”

He _tsks_ his tongue. “I think you can do better than that.”

“Aaron, I’d get on my knees and beg if I could, but I can’t, so I’m saying please fuck me. Right now. Right here on the couch.”

He sighs. He’s cracking. “Not convinced.”

 _Oh my God_. You’re ready to cry. “Please,” you scoot forward so you’re sitting in his lap now, and you wrap your arms around his neck, putting your lips right against his cheek. “Please, Daddy. Please.”

He wraps an arm around your waist to support you, and rests his other hand on your good thigh, his fingers dangerously close to where you want him. “You’re getting there.”

“It’s been too long, Daddy,” you keep going. “And you had to leave, and I missed you, and now I need you.” You pause to rock your hips, feeling him. “Please?” You’re surprised to find a few tears have fallen down your cheeks, but he wipes them away.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

He shifts his arm underneath your legs, keeping his other one around your waist as he lifts you. You let out a surprised squeal, the knowledge of how much core strength that must’ve taken sending another heat wave straight to your core. Seriously, his strength is a kink all on its own.

“Why are we going to the bedroom?” You ask.

He chuckles. “Because I don’t exactly like the idea of giving your mother a show in the event that she comes back soon.”

“Oh, right.” You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed that you didn’t think about that. You can’t help it. When you need him this badly, it’s like every other logical thought disappears.

He lays you down gently on your bed, leaving you only for a moment to shut your bedroom door and flick the lock for good measure.

You’re grinning like a madman when he crawls up from the foot of your bed, settling down in between your legs, with his face directly above your stomach.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he says, and when you start pouting, he adds, “because when I do, it’s going to take hours, and you won’t be quiet.”

You gasp without meaning to. But his voice. It’s so dark and so… _sexy_. “What…What are we going to do then?”

He smiles gently and lifts himself up to place a kiss on your lips, coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. How is it that he’s barely done anything and you’re quite literally on fire?

“You’re going to lay back and relax,” he whispers, pausing to kiss you again. “And Daddy’s going to enjoy himself.” This time when you gasp, he’s already kissing you, stealing your breath with no remorse.

You’re a goner.

After a moment, he slides back down your body, peppering kisses wherever he goes. He lifts your t-shirt to expose your stomach and the waistband of your sweatpants. Untying the strings, he gently works them down your legs, careful of your bad thigh.

He pauses after tossing the sweatpants aside. He looks up at you, hands gently massaging your calves. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He’s satisfied enough with that answer, so he continues.

Because he’s a tease, he doesn’t remove your panties right away. Instead, he goes back to kissing every inch of you, and once he finds a spot he likes (right on your hip bone), he latches on and works a deep purple mark into your skin.

You feel him smirk against your stomach when you throw your head back, already lightheaded and all he’s done is take off your pants and give you a goddamn hickey on your hip like you’re both in high school and have parents that would kill you if they knew you were doing this.

In a way, that analogy isn’t entirely inaccurate.

He kisses you over your panties, and you’re about five seconds away from telling him to just rip them off already. But you bite your tongue, waiting.

“You can hold onto my hair,” he murmurs against your clothed folds. “I missed you.”

Leave it to Aaron Hotchner to say he missed you while being nose-deep in your pussy.

“I missed you too, Aaron, but _please_ , I’m—”

“You should watch your tone, little girl,” he interrupts you. “You’re being very bratty while Daddy is trying to make you feel good. Don’t be ungrateful.”

“I’m not—”

“That’s what I thought,” he replies, then moves your panties aside, and licks a long stripe through your folds, causing you to cry out, your hands immediately searching for his hair to grasp. “There we go,” he chuckles, doing it again, earning the same response from you. “I know it’s been too long, sweetheart. I’m going to make it better, don’t worry. Daddy’ll make you feel good.”

“Please,” you whine, tugging on his hair, pulling him back in. “Please, please, please.”

He finally stops his teasing. And devours you.

Your eyes roll back faster than you’ve ever experienced before, even on a good night alone with yourself. He knows how to make you feel good in ways you aren’t even aware of.

He works one finger into you, quickly adding a second when you practically pull him in and clamp down, begging for more. But even after two, you’re still a squirming, whining mess, begging him for more, so he adds a third, marveling at the way you cry, finally feeling satisfied with three of his fingers deep inside of you.

He spreads them while sucking on your clit, moaning himself when he hears your choked, stuttered moan from the new pressure.

He feels it when your walls flutter, sucking his fingers in further, and he groans. He’s been rutting against the edge of your mattress like some horny teenager, but he can’t help it anymore.

Inside you. He needs to be inside you.

Your whine is loud and ear shattering when he removes his fingers from you. You were right on the edge, and even Aaron feels bad for doing it, not having intentions to edge you after so long.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, hurriedly shoving his jeans and underwear down and kicking them away. “I’ve got you, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

You’re out of your mind with pleasure when he sinks into you, careful of where he settles his weight so he’s not on your bad thigh.

He nearly cums as soon as he’s all the way inside of you, and it’s entirely your fault because your walls hug him so tightly that he wonders if he’ll be able to move. But in between your moans, you’re begging him to move, so he does.

He goes slow, not wanting to hurt you. He kisses you deeply, pulling back to stare into your eyes when he pushes you over the edge, loving the look on your face when you let yourself go. He dips his head to your neck, burying himself inside of you, and letting go.

A smaller orgasm blossoms through your core at the feeling of him spilling inside of you, your walls fluttering and pulling him in even deeper, so much so that you hear him groan.

If you weren’t injured, Aaron might’ve collapsed on top of you. But his brain reminds him to watch out for your bad thigh, so he carefully pulls out and rolls off of you. He’s still right next to you, though, barely a millimeter of space between your bodies because you refuse to let him go.

You actually whimpered when he pulled out of you, your arms practically glued around his neck, and they stay there even as he rolls to the side, tugging you with him.

“I’ve still got you,” he whispers, pulling you closer so your head is on his chest. “Are you okay?”

You nod dumbly, feeling blissfully fucked and refreshed. “I thought you weren’t going to fuck me,” you snicker, pressing your face into his bare chest.

He chuckles, the noise vibrating your skin, and then says, “Oh, sweetheart, that wasn’t fucking.”

“What was it then?”

He goes quiet for a moment. “Making love.”

Your eyes open gently, but your shock is still evident in your body. Aaron feels it.

“Did you like it?” He asks, sounding insecure.

“I loved it,” you murmur, tracing circles on his skin with your fingertips. You turn your head to look up at him, but keep your cheek pressed to his chest, too tired to move farther. “I love you.”

He can tell you mean it. “I love you too.”

He wants to ask about what your mom said earlier. About being her son-in-law. About being married to you.

Aaron has thought about it more often than he ever thought he would. He remembers thinking about it that day when he sat next to you on the dock in your hometown. When you first told him you were engaged to Trevor, and Aaron wished instead that you were engaged to him.

But…what if the way your engagement with Trevor ended – and the way Trevor hurt you in general – has made you despise ever getting married? Even if Aaron is a much better man than Trevor. Even if this time you’re older and are fully independent.

Aaron knows what it’s like to have that reluctance. He did, too. He doesn’t know when it changed after the divorce, but he knows it has changed. Because he knows he wants to marry you.

But do you? Do you want to marry him?

Before he can force himself to ask (hypothetically, of course), you hear your mother loudly coming through the front door, no doubt making the most noise she possibly can so you’re both well aware of her presence.

It makes you laugh. “And that would be Mom.”

“At least she’s making sure we hear her,” Aaron offers. “We should get up before she gets suspicious.”

“Oh, trust me, if she doesn’t make at least one joke about us having sex before she leaves, I’ll be very surprised.”

Aaron shudders. He’s clearly still not used to your mom, but he’ll have to get used to her eventually. Especially if he’s sticking around.


	26. I can see the end, as it begins

After cleaning up, Aaron goes to use the bathroom while you make your way out into the kitchen, where your mom is still loudly putting away groceries.

She eyes you carefully from the counter where she’s putting coffee in the cabinet above your Keurig. “Where’s your crutch?”

Damn. “Uhhh.” You look around and find it still leaned against the wall in the living room. “Oops?” You smile sheepishly.

“You need to use it,” she says gently. “At least for a little while.”

“I’m fine, Mom, I swear.” The groan of pain you let out as you hoist yourself up onto one of the stools behind the counter says otherwise. But neither of you say anything.

“Alright…” She exhales, but still doesn’t look convinced, though she does drop the subject for now. As she puts dishwasher soap under the sink, she asks, “Did you use protection?”

There it is. “Oh my God,” you laugh, putting your head in your hands. “I’m twenty-three!”

“And? STDs don’t have an expiration date!” She argues, kicking the cabinet door closed with her knee. “Just because you can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t get STDs, you know that.”

You know she’s right. But you also know that Aaron would’ve told you if he wasn’t clean. And you’re definitely clean, considering you haven’t done anything with anyone other than Trevor –and those tests came back clean after that.

“I know,” you say anyway, humoring her. You pause, lowering your voice. “I haven’t told him about that yet, so…please don’t say anything.”

She nods slowly, whispering too, “You’re gonna have to tell him at some point.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “At some point, which isn’t today.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Do you want me to stay another night?”

You glance at the time and nod. “You don’t need to drive anymore. You’ve done a lot the past couple days.”

“Agreed,” she chuckles.

Aaron returns from the bathroom a moment later, walking up behind you. But this time, he makes sure you see him, and he waits until you meet his eyes before he wraps an arm around your waist.

The small, kind gesture makes you smile.

“I just got a call,” he says, and you know that means nothing good.

“Oh no,” you sigh, turning your head to look up at him. “Who killed who?”

He laughs. “Not that kind of call. Haley called.”

Your mom looks up at the mention of another woman.

Aaron notices. “My ex-wife,” he clarifies before looking back at you. “Jack talked to her this morning about seeing if I would pick him up from school, so I’m gonna surprise him.” He pauses. “Would you…like to come with?”

Your face softens at the offer. Your heart aches. He wants you to meet Jack. He wants you to meet his _son_.

But you can’t. Not right now.

“Thank you, but I’m really tired,” you smile softly, hoping he won’t profile you right now. “You go ahead. Mom and I are gonna have a movie marathon.”

“ _Mamma Mia!_?” Your mom asks excitedly.

“Duh,” you grin. “What else are we supposed to watch?”

Aaron’s hand squeezes your waist gently. “That sounds fun,” he chuckles. “Well, I need to head out since I’m picking him up. I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur, closing your eyes when his lips softly meet yours.

“Nice to see you again,” Aaron waves to your mom. “I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave, but if not.” He walks around the counter and wraps her in a hug. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

She swats his chest as he steps away. “You’ve done enough, Aaron. Get outta here.”

He laughs, stopping to give you one more kiss before he’s out the door.

A few moments after the door has closed, your mom gives you another look. “Jack is his son?”

“Yeah.”

“You need to tell him.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know.”

+++

When you were 19, you had your life figured out. Kind of.

You thought you did, at least. You had a degree. You had applied to a ton of jobs (dream jobs, not just any jobs, _dream jobs_ ) and gotten many callbacks. You had a fiancé who loved you.

After a childhood from Hell, you were finally on the other side. You were finally out of the darkness.

Until Trevor threw you right back in the deep end.

It started as very subtle comments that you were able to brush away. Then they became more persistent. And then he stopped asking. He took. Whatever he wanted.

And you let him. At the end of the day, you let him do it.

You let him take your innocence, but you knew you had to get out of there as soon as you could. Which is why you threw the stupid engagement ring at him that night. Hit him right on the forehead, a perfect shot. You wanted to do more. Wanted to punch him in the nose, scream at him until he understood how he fucked you up. But you didn’t.

You left. You went to Virginia. Worked in the BCI. Tried to make sense of your life once again after it had been uprooted and toyed with and slashed until you had nothing left but threads of who you used to be. What you used to want.

You used to want it all. The stable, 9-5 job, the kids, the picket fence, the dog, and maybe a cat or two. The minivan. The dream wedding, dream anniversaries, celebrating ten years, then twenty, then thirty, and more.

Trevor ruined it all.

But so did your body.

You’ll never forget the day you got the news.

After Trevor raped you— _Months_ after, you had the sickening thought that he could’ve gotten you pregnant. The thought haunted you. You were in Virginia already, working at the BCI, living on your own, with Trevor in your rearview.

But one sleepless night, you had the dark thought that you were pregnant. You’ve heard of some women being able to _tell_. Call it a mother’s intuition, or whatever you want, but you were paranoid. You swore you felt… _something_ growing.

It was just your paranoia, of course, because after a trip to the doctor, you found out that you can’t get pregnant.

You just can’t.

You don’t remember what disorder or diagnosis or whatever it was that was thrown around. All you remember is that it isn’t life-threatening, but you can’t have kids.

You weren’t pregnant, and you wouldn’t _ever_ be pregnant.

You were elated, to say the least. You were practically jumping with joy. You weren’t carrying your abusive, ex-fiancé’s kid. That’s the best news you ever could’ve gotten.

And with Trevor out of the picture, it’s not like you had your sight set on anyone else who you might like to have kids with. And after the fiasco that was your relationship with Trevor, it’s not like you even wanted kids anymore.

But now…

You never thought you’d end up with someone again, let alone someone like Aaron. Someone who treats you right, who is as crazy about you (if not more) as you are about him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find a love like this.

But now you have. Now you have it. Now, he’s right beside you. Metaphorically, obviously, because right now he’s actually out getting ice cream with Jack – you know because he’s been sending pictures and Jack has vanilla ice cream all over his face.

The pictures made you smile. Your mom, too. But you didn’t reply to his text. You want him to spend time with Jack – or at least that’s the excuse you tell yourself.

The truth is that you don’t know what to say. Anything that you say feels wrong when it comes to kids.

You know your mom is right. You know you’ll need to tell Aaron eventually. And you will, you really will. Because he deserves to know, especially if he wants more kids. You don’t know if he does, though. He might be fine with just the one. But you don’t know. You won’t know until you talk to him.

But what if he doesn’t want you anymore?

+++

Aaron checks his phone once more, but there’s no reply from you. He tries not to think too much about it. You’re probably watching a movie with your mom and just haven’t looked at your messages yet.

He tries not to think the worst because your mom is there with you. You’re okay now.

“Why can’t I spend the night?” Jack whines as Aaron helps him unbuckle. They’re back at the house now. The house Aaron used to live at with Haley and Jack but is now only theirs.

He didn’t want to fight over the house in the divorce. Or anything. He signed it without any resistance. He knew it was useless. He doesn’t have the need for a house this big, anyway. It’s better that Haley and Jack stay here, that Jack stays in his same bedroom, in his same environment. Enough was changing with Aaron and Haley separating.

It does feel weird, though, every time Aaron steps back inside. It’s like he’s stepping back in time. Back to when he and Haley were still married, still making it work. But then Haley started redecorating, moving things around no doubt to make the place her own and to ward off the memories of her and Aaron.

“Because, buddy, I have to go to work tomorrow, and you have school,” Aaron says, stepping back and holding the door (because Jack likes to get out of his seat on his own now).

Jack climbs out of his car seat and hops down onto the ground. “Can you pick me up again tomorrow?”

Aaron shuts the door with a sigh. “I’ll see.”

“That just means you won’t,” Jack mumbles quietly, walking up the driveway.

Aaron sighs again but doesn’t try to argue with his son. Because Jack is right. It just means he won’t be able to, and Aaron really needs to stop trying to “soften the blow” when it comes to this stuff. He thinks he’s doing Jack a favor by leaving it open-ended, but it’s very obviously not working out that way.

Haley opens the front door and welcomes Jack inside with a pat on his head. She tries to hug him, but he pushes past her with a small, “Hi Mom.”

Aaron shakes his head. “He wanted me to pick him up tomorrow, too.”

She nods silently. “Oh.” She says nothing else. She knows Aaron won’t be able to. She knows days like today are more than rare.

“Yeah,” Aaron replies. “How are you?”

“Good,” Haley says. “You?”

“Good,” Aaron says with a shrug. The small talk always kills him, but he doesn’t know what he expects at this point.

“How is…the agent of yours? She was hurt, right?”

Aaron forgot he told Haley that. When she had texted to ask if he could get Jack from school today, she was asking on a whim and expected a _no_. But when he said he could, Haley asked how he randomly had the day off. So, he told her the truth. An agent was injured, shot in the leg, so things were slow for now, mostly paperwork and phone calls, and that he needed a break.

He did not tell Haley that he was just at your apartment, though. Even though the whole team was there.

“She’s better,” he says. “She’s back home now, and the doctors said it should be a smooth recovery from here on out.”

He tries not to have too much emotion in his voice. Haley might not be a profiler, but she has known him since high school. She knows his voice.

“That’s good,” she replies, and if she’s suspicious, Aaron sure as hell can’t tell. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. I’m sure you’ve got a lot going on.”

He doesn’t, not really. “Yeah,” he says anyway. “Thank you for letting me pick him up today.” He shouldn’t have to thank her for that, but he still does.

“Thanks for doing it,” she smiles. “It really made Jack’s day. Even if he is grumpy right now.”

“Tell him I love him, please,” Aaron sighs. “See you.”

“Bye, Aaron.”

He turns to leave, and he hears the door close. His footsteps falter, even though they shouldn’t.

She’s stopped watching him go.

Something in his chest twists painfully, the idea that that part of his life really is behind him, completely, permanently. Even though he’s in love with you, he’d be a liar if he said when he’s back here, he doesn’t reminisce about how it used to be with Haley.

But it won’t ever be that way again, so he gets in his car, and drives away, closing the gate behind him.


	27. Sometimes it's bad, you know that I notice

“I don’t need the goddamn crutch—Oh, _hey babe_.”

Aaron gives you a stern look from the kitchen. He’s still going into the BAU today, but he stopped by your apartment early to make breakfast – and to hopefully keep you from coming into the BAU when you’re not allowed back yet.

Currently, your mom is trying to get you to use the crutch – which you don’t need, by the way – to walk the short distance from the bedroom to the living room. It’s absurd.

“You need to use it,” Aaron says. “At least until you’re steady again.”

“I’m perfectly steady.”

“You’re limping,” he replies. Your mom nods in agreement, but you ignore her.

“Okay, you try getting shot and _not_ limping.”

If your mother wasn’t here, you’re not sure what kind of punishment that comment would’ve just landed you.

And knowing Aaron, he’s keeping track for later when you’re alone.

You plop down on the couch, muffling your whimper of pain. You haven’t had any pain medication yet because you just woke up. Aaron didn’t tell you he was coming, so the surprise was nice, except for the fact that you had fallen asleep only three hours earlier.

It’s hard to sleep. But you’re not telling Aaron that right now.

He can probably see it in your eyes, anyway. Doesn’t mean you’re going to tell him, though.

“Any new cases yet?” You ask, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over your bare legs. You sleep without pants normally, but with your mom here, you slept in shorts.

“No,” Aaron says from the stove, his back facing you. “But a new case is the least of your worries. The doctor said you won’t be in the field for another two months, at least.”

“Yeah, but I could hang out with Garcia and help you guys from here.”

He pauses. “I’ll think about it.”

“Honey, you need to relax and rest,” your mom chides. She sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You don’t need to worry about anybody but you right now.”

“You know how hard that is for me, right?”

“I know,” she chuckles. “But you have to try for me.”

Your mom has been the definition of a mother hen the entire time, starting last week when she arrived at the hospital. You’re not surprised, not really. She was the same way when you were a teenager and nearly took your own life when you rolled her car. You didn’t tell her it wasn’t an accident until a few months later, but you think deep down she always knew.

“What’s for breakfast?” You question, picking your head up from your mom’s shoulder.

“Eggs and toast,” Aaron replies. “Do you want anything else?”

“That’s good.” You put your head back on your mom’s shoulder, sighing. “When do they need you back at work?”

“Probably tomorrow,” she murmurs. “They’ve been really lenient about giving me these days off.”

“I’m glad they did,” you whisper.

“Me too, baby, me too,” she says, squeezing you closer. “Sometimes you just need your momma.”

“I definitely needed my momma,” you chuckle sadly.

You kept it together remarkably well while the team was in your room that day at the hospital. And you only cried a couple times with Aaron. But when your mom got there, the dam finally broke, and everything you had been holding back, everything you hadn’t processed yet, it all came out.

“I wasn’t ready,” you had cried into your mom’s chest, gripping her shirt as tight as you could, careful of the IV deep in your vein. “I’m not ready to die.”

“I know, baby,” she was sobbing too. “I know.”

It even went as far as her asking you if you still…wanted to work in the BAU after this. You looked at her like she was crazy, but you know now that she meant well. She was worried sick for you, and she doesn’t want this to happen again.

You don’t either. So, you’re just going to be a lot more careful from here on out.

It’s not like you have a choice. You imagine it’ll be absolute hell trying to get Aaron to let you even so much as join Penelope for a few months before you’re ready to go back out in the field.

The three of you eat breakfast on the couch (you don’t have a dining table, and you’re not up for climbing on a stool when your leg is aching this bad right now), mostly in silence. 

After breakfast is eaten and plates are shoved in the dishwasher, your mom heads for the shower, giving you and Aaron another short moment alone before he has to leave for work.

He turns toward you and grabs one of your hands, kissing your knuckles before holding it between both his hands. You smile.

“I want to mention this to you now, so you aren’t caught off guard,” he starts, and you’re already worried. “I’m not supposed to tell you in advance, but given what you’ve been through in your past, let alone the last week, I decided to bend the rules.”

“Just tell me already,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “What is it?”

“I’ve ordered a psych eval for you. In two weeks.”

You blink. “What?”

Aaron sighs. “It’s standard procedure for any agent, and they are normally random as your career goes on. But sometimes when something like this happens, I order one out of precaution.”

You’re still trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying, so your reply is less than eloquent and comes out more accusatory than you mean it to. “You think I’m unstable.”

“Y/N, you were _shot_ ,” he says, like you needed a reminder. “You almost died.”

“And?” You furrow your eyebrows. “I didn’t, I’m fine.”

“It’s a traumatic experience – for anyone.”

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you repeat, sensing one of his famous lectures in your future.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” he says firmly. “If you’re fine, then the evaluation will be a breeze, and you can put it behind you easily.”

You glare at him. “Don’t taunt me.”

“I’m not trying to taunt you,” he says gently. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay, Aaron. I’m telling you myself. I’m alright.”

“I need to be sure,” he says. Then, because he knows you won’t give this up, he adds, “Strauss was the one who originally suggested it, and I only agreed with her. I can’t cancel it now. It’ll be okay.”

“You’re not the one having your mental state poked and prodded. It’s like they search for something wrong.”

“That’s their job.”

“Well it’s annoying,” you mumble.

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to get over it.”

You stare back at him, both stunned and turned on that he said that to you (you’re very angry with the latter because now is not the time to be turned on).

“I know it’s not ideal,” he continues. “But I was already thinking about ordering one after the case in your hometown.”

You don’t mean to, but you yank your hand out of his grip. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he replies, not trying to reach for your hand again, but wanting to. “But I didn’t because you took those few days off and seemed better after when we went to dinner.”

“If you tell me that you only asked me out to dinner because you wanted to profile me the entire night, I _will_ smack you.”

“That would not be wise,” he says, using a tone that does something to you – and he knows this, you’re sure. “And of course that’s not why I asked you to dinner. You know that.”

“I know,” you exhale, closing your eyes. “I just… _really_ don’t like psych evals.”

Aaron sighs. He can’t cancel the evaluation once it’s set, so that’s out of the question. But he hates seeing you like this. “Can I ask why?”

You don’t want to answer him, but he’s waiting, so you do. “They always want to tell me that I can’t be an agent because of what I went through,” you mutter. “I always have to say I’m completely past it and recovered, because one single mention of my PTSD, and how I’m _human_ and have some bad days, and they think I’m unfit to be an agent.” You pause, your good friend Imposter Syndrome rearing its ugly head. “I’m not, right? I can still be an agent.”

“Yes,” Aaron nods sincerely. “You can. You are remarkable at your job. And the team would be at a loss without you. And I’m not just saying that because I love you.” He pauses, “But…you do need to be in a somewhat stable mindset for it.”

Back to square one. “So you do think I’m unstable.” Now it is accusatory, and you don’t even care.

“No—”

“You think I can’t do this job. You honestly think I can’t do my job.”

“That’s not what I think, Y/N, _listen to me_ —”

“I can see _it_ in your _eyes_ , Hotch!” You cry, not meaning to raise your voice, but it happened anyway, and he sits back, stunned. You shake your head, angry at yourself and still angry with him. “You’re gonna be late. You should go.”

“Y/N…”

“I need to think, Aaron,” you reply, your voice barely loud enough to hear. “Please. I don’t want to keep going and say something I’ll really regret and make it even worse. And you don’t need to be late to work.”

He knows you’re right. He’s never late to work, so he shouldn’t start now. He’s already walking a thin line by going in exactly on time. He’s usually thirty minutes if not an hour before anyone else. The team knows about your relationship with Hotch, but God forbid Strauss calls for him and he’s not there.

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll come by later tonight, okay?”

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Text me.”

“I will.”

You don’t want him to go without a kiss, and you know he won’t lean in first when you’re upset. So, you do.

Aaron closes the gap, holding your face gently, kissing you smoothly and slowly. His apology, or his first form of one.

+++

Your argument – was it an argument? Or just a disagreement? Or was it a fight?

It definitely wasn’t a fight. No voices were raised – well, yours did, but you stopped yourself. His never did. He hasn’t really raised his voice at you since that first night in the hotel together.

 _That_ was a fight. This was only a…disagreement.

After all, you still walked him to the door and you both said “I love you” before he left. If it was a fight, you wouldn’t have done that.

But still your mind doesn’t like arguments like this. When it’s not sexy, tension is never your friend.

And the disagreement being about a fucking psych eval makes it worse.

You’ve never told anyone this, but you almost didn’t get the job with the BAU for this reason. Hotch requested your transfer, yes, but if the psychiatrist says you’re unfit for the job, then there’s nothing Hotch could do to reverse it. Technically, you would’ve been banned from working for the FBI for a number of years, only reversible if upon a second psych eval you were deemed recovered and fit to be an agent.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen, and you got the job. It was still written in your file that you had PTSD from sexual assault at 19 and that you had seen a therapist in the past in your teenage years. Hotch knew all of this when he hired you, and he didn’t care.

Why does he care so much now?

“He’s just looking out for you, honey,” your mom tries to explain. “He didn’t know the real reason for your PTSD back then. And now you’re in a relationship, and you were just injured on the job. He has to be blaming himself for this, too, I imagine.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he’s blaming himself.” You haven’t had a chance to ask him about that or to talk his brain out of doing it, but you will. “I just—I’m not the first one to ever be injured, you know? Penelope was shot multiple times a couple years ago. Derek has gotten hit up the head more times than I can remember. Emily was badly beat up when her and Reid got held hostage on one case – Hell, Reid was fucking _kidnapped_ by a serial killer years ago!”

Your mom stares at you in alarm. “Maybe I _don’t_ want you doing this.”

“Mom,” you groan. “Do you hear what I’m saying? Hotch is treating me different.”

She thinks for a second. “Do you know if he’s had them go through a psych eval after what happened to them?”

You shake your head. You could ask, but it might be kind of weird to bring that up out of nowhere. And you don’t want Hotch to think you don’t trust his judgment. 

Even though his judgment is pissing you off right now.

“He probably did,” your mom shrugs.

“Okay, let’s say he did, it still doesn’t explain why he’s so—”

“Y/N, my dear, he loves you.”

You pause, eyebrows furrowed. “I know he does.”

Your mom shakes her head, smiling sadly. “You don’t. You know he loves you, but not how much. But I see it.” She pauses. “He would bring the moon down to Earth for you to hug if you asked him. That’s what your grandma used to say about grandpa.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“It’s exactly how Aaron looks at you.”

You wonder for a moment if this is your mom doing her thing again. Her thing, meaning, when she gets heart eyes. When she wants the absolute best for you, which is always, but sometimes gets too excited and takes it too far. When she moves faster than you. When she wants things for you that you aren’t ready for.

“I don’t know about that,” you say quietly.

She smiles. “You don’t want to believe he could love you that much, and that’s okay, but you’re going to have to let him. Because he does love you that much, and nothing you say is going to stop him. No amount of pushing him away is ever going to make him go.”

“I can’t let myself think that way,” you admit. “Because the second I do—I’m afraid he is going to go away and get tired of me and dealing with all of me.”

“You can’t think like that, baby.”

“I know.”

“Oh, come here,” your mom laughs, wiping tears from her eyes. “Don’t make me cry before I have to leave. I’m liable to tell them I can’t come in tomorrow.”

“No, you have to go,” you tell her, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll be okay. Just a phone call away, remember?”

It’s what you told her probably every five minutes when you got your first job in Virginia, hours away from her. Working at the BCI was the first time in your life that you’d be hours away from your mom. It was hard on the both of you.

“I know, and I will be calling more, and you better pick up.”

“I’ll never ignore your phone calls.”

“Good,” she chuckles.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“What is it?”

“What you said earlier…about Aaron being your son-in-law…”

“Oh, I was just joking around,” she says. “Why?”

“I mean, just that. I didn’t know if you were serious or anything.”

Her eyes widen. “Has he asked you to marry him?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “No. He hasn’t.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh nervously. “I don’t know at all, but maybe? I haven’t thought about marriage since… And I don’t know. I don’t know if Aaron even wants that, I mean, he just went through a divorce, so.”

“Well,” she pats your leg, “you’ll figure it out in time.”

“Yeah, we will,” you smile, trying to let it go as easily as she has. But you don’t think you’ll be able to.


	28. I know it's hard enough to love me

Aaron doesn’t get done at the BAU until seven. Much later than he wanted, but he had work that he couldn’t abandon. The case still wasn’t closed yet – all the paperwork is done now, but it normally doesn’t take him this long.

He shouldn’t overanalyze his every move, but he can’t help it. He knows he’s walking a thin line, dating a member of his team. A fellow agent, a much younger fellow agent, when he’s a divorced father who doesn’t even have custody of his own son, only visitation.

It’s tearing him apart. But the one thing that puts him back together, is seeing you.

So, that’s what he does.

He didn’t like leaving you this morning. He didn’t want to. But he didn’t expect the psych eval to upset you as much as it did. He truly was only trying to give you a heads up – even though that’s against his rules, too.

He’s breaking all his rules for you. Every last one of them.

And yet, you don’t care.

You open your apartment door to him, and you throw yourself in his arms like you’ve waited all day for him.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he says, kicking your door closed with his foot. His arms are around your waist and yours are around his neck, so he’s lifting you off the ground just enough to carry you over to the couch. He’s careful when he shifts your weight as he sits down, so he can swing your legs around gently so you’re sitting in his lap, your arms never having to leave their place around his neck.

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice muffled due to the fact that you’re hiding your face in his neck. “I’m sorry I was so grumpy this morning.”

Aaron sighs, rubbing your back. “You’re forgiven, I promise.”

You lift your head a little to press a kiss to his cheek, your apology in two parts. “My mom and I talked about it.”

“What did she have to say about it?”

You smile softly. “That you look at me the way my grandpa looked at my grandma.”

Aaron hums, curious.

You continue. “She said you looked like you’d bring the moon down to Earth if I asked you.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I would.” Another kiss. “I’d need some help.” Another kiss. “But just say the word.”

Another kiss and you’re giggling. “I don’t need the moon, Aaron.”

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “Or are you too afraid to ask?”

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

He tilts his head, giving you another look. “Little girl…”

“No,” you stop him, pulling him closer, staring into the glass of whiskey that is his eyes. “I don’t need the moon…because I have you.” You pause, watching his eyes, seeing his reaction. “And that’s enough,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you love me, but I’m gonna try.”

“Y/N…”

“Mom told me you just love me too much. You’re not trying to upset me, you’re just…trying to make sure I’m okay and that I can do this without killing myself, I guess.”

“She’s right,” he adds softly.

“I know she is,” you chuckle. “She’s right a lot more than I want her to be, but point is, I’m not mad at you. Thank you for the warning about the psych eval. I know you weren’t trying to be a dick by doing it.” He’s not out to get you. You know that now, or you’re trying to.

“Thank you for saying all this,” he says quietly, the one hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to brush your cheek. “I owe you an apology, too. I didn’t do a good job of explaining earlier and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you right before I had to leave. That wasn’t fair.”

“It really wasn’t,” you laugh, “but thank you.”

He hums, sealing the resolve with another kiss. “Have you eaten dinner?”

You shake your head. “I was waiting for you.”

He sighs, smiling despite his better judgment. “I appreciate that, but it’s late. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Well, tough.” You lay your head on his shoulder, biting your cheeks to keep from smiling. You’re more than well aware that that little comment will poke Aaron’s buttons. His hand tightening around your waist is evidence of it.

“What do you want to eat, brat?”

Your breath hitches. Then, as if you want to make it worse, you say, “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Aaron sighs again, this time tired and ragged, holding on by a thin thread. “Food, little girl. _Food_. My cock isn’t food.”

“Well…”

_“Y/N.”_

“Fine, fine. I don’t know, pizza? Pizza is a safe bet.”

“Pizza it is then,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. While he’s looking up the number of the pizza place, he says nonchalantly, “You know I’m not fucking you until you’re fully recovered. I won’t say it a third time.”

You want to argue because technically sucking him off isn’t him fucking you, but you decide not to. Right now.

Later, you will. He’ll cave eventually. You’re sure of it.

+++

Aaron curves your every attempt to steer things in a more sensual direction. You don’t mind it really, you like teasing him like this – even if you know it’ll come back to bite you in the ass when he decides to punish you for it all. But he insists on not fucking you.

You know you were just shot, but you wish he’d just slam you into the wall already.

Unfortunately, your injured leg doesn’t coordinate with your desire because rough sex – or any sex – is off the table now.

You weren’t going to take any pain medicine for it because it wasn’t hurting that bad, but then it got worse, and you think it’s probably because you did laundry today when you definitely shouldn’t have. You’re not telling Aaron that, though. No way.

Still, he made you take some pain medicine, and now you’re settling into the first Harry Potter movie. He kept his word and you did, too. He needs to watch all of them.

You’re lying down now with your head in his lap – on a pillow, of course, because he doesn’t want you getting any ideas – as the familiar tune of the opening scene plays.

You doze in and out, falling asleep quickly because Aaron’s hands are massaging small circles into your head. You recall him throwing a blanket over you at some point, so you must’ve been shivering.

It’s not long before you’ve fallen asleep completely, waking only after the movie has ended and Aaron has you in his arms bridal style, carrying you to your bed.

“What time is it?” You mumble, turning to bury your face in his shirt, inhaling the familiar smell that is your man.

“Almost eleven,” he whispers back. 

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Are you staying?”

“Of course,” he replies almost instantly. “I stuck a bag in here when we surprised you.”

“You did?” You ask, smiling stupidly. “Cheeky motherfucker.”

He laughs, catching himself and muffling the sound so it doesn’t rattle your eardrums as hard. “Just looking out for my little girl.”

You hum again, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Your little girl loves it. And you.”

“And I love her too,” he murmurs. “Can I put you down now?”

Your eyes pop open lazily, seeing you’re in your bedroom. “Have you just been holding me?”

He nods as he lowers you onto the bed. “I felt like holding you.”

You hold onto his neck, and he doesn’t seem to mind as he stays bent over you, his nose brushing against yours. In the dim light, you take him in, searching his brown eyes, trying to find some reasoning, some magic spell that made it possible for him to love you this much.

“You better stop,” you whisper, not knowing where this is going.

“Or what?” He asks, inching closer, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Or I’ll wanna marry you for real,” you mumble. You’re aware of what you’re saying, but the exhaustion from the pain medicine makes it hard to fully process your own words. All you know is you mean them, every syllable.

“I already want to marry you,” he replies quietly. He’s not sure if you’re even coherent right now. You look like you are, but it seems too good to be true.

And as if his thoughts are confirmed, your eyes slip closed, sleep taking over.

You probably won’t remember this in the morning.

But he hopes you will.

+++

When you wake up, Aaron is long gone.

There’s a note next to a glass of water on your nightstand. He’s left for work and is going to try to be back earlier this evening. You smile at the thought, knowing he’ll get caught up again, but you don’t mind. It comes with the job.

You would love to go to the office for lunch. Maybe surprise him this time? You wouldn’t need a ride, as long as you don’t take anymore pain medicine today. The affects from last night’s is already gone.

He might kill you for it, but you’re doing it anyway. You miss everyone.

So, on that note, you get up and eat a quick breakfast before throwing on the comfiest clothes you own. It’ll be weird going into the BAU in these clothes with your badge clipped to the edge of your sweatshirt instead of to a blazer. 

And sure enough, it does.

Stepping off the elevator on the floor of the BAU feels more nerve-wracking than it should.

On one hand, you’re excited to be here again, to see the rest of the team and to surprise all of them. On the other hand, you know Aaron won’t be happy with you (at first) for coming here. And you have this strange pit in your stomach, but you’re not sure what that’s about.

You push the negative feelings away and try to stay positive, focusing on the reactions from the rest of the team. They’ll be happy to see you, no doubt. That’s what you should be focusing on.

You’ve barely rounded the corner when you run into Penelope.

She grins, shaking her head. “You’re not supposed to be here, you sneaky little weasel.”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “But I was going insane and I miss you guys! I had to come visit and surprise everyone for lunch.”

“I can order in your favorite,” Penelope winks. “Come, come. Let’s grab JJ.”

Penelope links her arm with yours and the two of you walk to JJ’s office. JJ is at her desk and not on the phone for once, but the stacks of case files are as tall as ever. She looks up when you knock on her doorframe, and her face breaks into a grin.

“Hey you!” She stands, ignoring the open file to give you a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say hi,” you chuckle, squeezing her tight. “I’m going insane doing nothing.”

“It’s barely been two weeks,” JJ laughs. “What are you gonna do for the other two months?”

“Don’t even tell me that,” you groan. “I don’t know. I’ll just come bug you guys every day off the clock, I guess.”

“And if they’re gone, you can come camp out with me in my lair,” Penelope offers.

“Of course,” you nudge her arm. “I’ll probably hide out with you to avoid the wrath of Hotch.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?” JJ asks. She grimaces when you nod. “Good luck with that one, sister.”

“Why do you think I want to walk in there with you guys? I’m not going into the lion’s den alone.”

“Oh, you’d be fine,” Penelope laughs. “We’re still having a girl’s night, right? We still need details and you are not getting out of it.”

“Yes, yes, we can, we’ll find time,” you promise.

After another moment of idle conversation, the three of you head up the hall to the bullpen. Through the glass doors, you can see Reid doing another magical science trick, and he must be practicing because Derek and Emily are working on some paperwork instead of watching him.

You decide to surprise Emily first since her desk is closest. Derek spots you, but doesn’t say a word, letting you sneak up behind Emily.

“Did you use my shampoo?” You ask right into her ear (don’t ask why, it’s the first thing that came to mind).

She spins around and jumps up, pulling you into a hug. Derek gives you a hug next, and Reid waves from his desk before going back to whatever experiment he’s in the middle of doing.

“Where’s Hotch?” You ask, glancing between everyone.

“ _Your man_ is in his office,” Derek snickers. “What? Did you not get enough lovin’ this morning?”

“Shut it, Morgan,” you try to smack his arm, but he dodges your swing with a laugh. “And since you asked so nicely, I’m never satisfied.” 

Your shit-eating grin earns cheering from the girls, but Morgan groans loudly, shuddering.

“I did not need to know that, L/N. Seriously.”

You shrug. “Don’t ask then.”

Morgan shakes his head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I’m glad to see you’re just as feisty as always.”

“That’ll never leave me,” you wrap an arm around his waist, accepting his hug. “Where’s Rossi?”

“He took today off,” Emily answers.

“Something about his publisher,” JJ shrugs. 

“Another book?” You ask. “I thought he was done with that.”

“Maybe,” Morgan says. “And I thought you weren’t allowed back here for at least another month.”

“To work,” you clarify, poking his stomach. “I’m just here to bug you guys and have lunch. I’m enjoying my time off, thank you very much.”

“You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Out of my fucking mind,” you admit with a laugh. 

You’re too busy talking to Morgan to realize Hotch has walked out of his office and is standing on the balcony, arms crossed over his chest, and a near death glare settled on you.

“Uh oh,” Morgan mutters, sliding his arm off your shoulders.

Your arm slips from around his waist, your eyebrows furrowing. “What— _Oh._ Oops.”

“Y/N,” Hotch says firmly. “Can I speak to you in my office?”

“You’re gon get it now,” Morgan says under his breath.

But you hear the remark, so you punch him in his side. “Of course, sir,” you say to him, adding another jab to Morgan’s ribs when you hear him snickering at you. You’re gonna get him. So bad.

Aaron turns and walks back into his office. He’s closing the blinds when you walk in.

“Shut the door,” he says sternly.

You do as you’re told (for once), shutting the door behind you. “Aaron, I can expl—” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence because the wind is knocked out of you, and Aaron lips are smothering your own. He nips at your bottom lip, and you open up for him, moaning when his tongue doesn’t even fight for dominance, just takes. The kiss has you hot all over, thanks to his wandering hands that run under your sweatshirt, leaving goosebumps everywhere his fingertips touch.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless, your chest heaving, your eyes wide, lips bruised.

“Um,” you pause to take a deep breath, licking your buzzing lips. “I’m sorry?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says sternly. “You’re lucky they’re out there or I’d bend you over my desk.”

You swallow thickly. “You still can.”

He smirks, but shakes his head, his thumb stroking your cheek softly. “No. And if they ask, you can say we were discussing your psych eval.”

You deflate at its mention. You try not to show it, but Aaron sees it. “When is that, by the way?”

“The Friday after next,” he says quietly. “At noon.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “When are you supposed to formally tell me?”

He chuckles. “Today is fine. I can tell Strauss I called you in to discuss it and you decided to have lunch with the team – if she asks.”

“Are you okay with lying to her this much?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve lied to her more often than you think. Before you joined us.”

“I don’t believe it,” you smirk. “You’re always such a stickler for the rules.”

“And yet here I am,” he pauses, kissing you again, “in love with you.”

“Loving me is dangerous, huh?”

“You have _no_ idea.”


	29. But I woke up in a safehouse singing, "Honey, let's get married."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Unprotected sex, fingering, cockwarming

Dinner is at Aaron’s apartment tonight and you have half of a mind to wonder if he did this because he wanted you here to punish you for how bratty you’ve been, but you try not to think that far ahead yet. If you do, you’ll be too giddy to even eat.

Currently, you’re curled up on his couch. He called ahead to his building to tell them to let you in, and he even gave you his spare key from his go bag, so you could get in and disable and reset the alarm system. Having the alarm system already makes you feel ten times safer than in your own apartment. You wish you had one of these.

You stopped at your apartment after lunch with the team to grab a bag of clothes. You were only going to grab one change, but you know yourself (and Aaron) better than that, so you grabbed four days’ worth. And all your toiletries.

You’re not even ashamed of the fact. You sat it in the middle of Aaron’s bed, too.

But right now, you have the TV turned to some random channel while you doze in and out of a nap. 

This is where Aaron finds you, sleeping soundly on his couch, curled in on yourself. He grabs a blanket from his room and throws it over you, careful not to wake you when he kisses your forehead.

He’d like to come home to this every single day. Coming home to you every day sounds like his own personal heaven.

Aaron changes into a t-shirt and jeans before getting started on dinner, all while moving quietly so as not to wake you.

The moment your brain becomes remotely aware of another presence, you’re awake. Actually, you’re jolting awake, sitting up off the couch so fast you almost make yourself dizzy, only to find the “other presence” is just Aaron in the kitchen.

You relax back against the couch cushions, untangling your legs from the blanket you don’t remember covering up with. Aaron must’ve put it on you when he got home.

You wrap the blanket around your shoulders and venture into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while Aaron cooks. You have no idea what it is, but it looks good, and the way he smiles at you makes the food smell better – if that’s even possible.

“Morning honey pie,” Aaron says, pausing his stirring to bring you into his arms, careful of the blanket so it doesn’t catch fire.

“ _Honey pie_ ,” you repeat with a stupid smile. “That’s new.”

He grins. “I was listening to it on the way home and thought of you.” He pauses to kiss you. “Do you not like it?”

“I think it’s adorable,” you chuckle, wrapping the blanket tighter and practically burrowing into his chest. “I just didn’t pin you as the ‘honey pie’ kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy did you pin me as?”

“Little girl, for starters,” you snicker. “Brat. Little one. Sweetheart.”

“Well, you are still all of those,” he says. “Just add honey pie to the list.”

“Gladly,” you nod, letting go of him so he can return to the stove. “I need a pet name for you,” you muse, hopping up on the counter opposite of the stove.

“Don’t you have one?”

“Do you really think I should call you Daddy in public?”

“I’d love it.”

“Would you?” You ask almost immediately. “Seriously?”

He turns around with a shrug. “Yes. But I know what you’re saying. What about honey?”

“I’m already honey pie.”

“Okay…” He chuckles, turning back around. “Dear? Babe?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Babe sounds nice. Do you like babe?”

“I like whatever you call me. Within reason.”

“Fair,” you smile, knowing he caught himself at the last minute. You almost might’ve gotten yourself in trouble. And you might right now. “What about husband?”

Aaron barely reacts, but you see his muscles tense. 

“What?”

“I’d love that,” he finally says. He turns around and his face has gone soft, almost like he wants to cry. “What about wife? Do you like that?”

“I love it,” you whisper. “Do you remember what I said last night?”

“Do you remember what you said last night?” He counters. “You were so tired.”

“I was, but I remember what I said.”

“Okay then, what did you say?”

“That you needed to be careful,” you start. “Or I’d wanna marry you for real.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember saying that,” he admits. “It’s why I haven’t mentioned it. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?” You ask. “How?”

He sighs. “I know you were engaged to Trevor and that didn’t end well and well I…I was scared if I brought it up, you’d get scared and end things.”

“Aaron…” You shake your head. “No…babe, no, I—I said that because I meant it. Yes, what happened with Trevor didn’t end well, but I was young. He was…awful and manipulative. I was naïve. But I know you’re not him. You are miles different from him and that’s a good thing. And you’re not gonna scare me away with talking about marriage.” You pause to laugh awkwardly. “It’s actually been on my mind ever since I heard my mom’s son-in-law comment.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, the sound easing the tension in the air. “I heard that, too. I didn’t want to bring that up either, though.”

“She means well,” you shrug. “But it did get me thinking about it.”

“Me too.”

“I mean, obviously not right now because I mean…we’ve barely been really dating for a…month? How long?”

“I guess a month,” he agrees. “But those dinners were dates, by the way.”

“I know they were, you son of a bitch.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Hm?” You raise your eyebrows innocently.

“I’ll let that slide,” he says sternly. “But I agree. It’s too early to get married, and I’d never want to rush you.”

“But…at least we know what we both want?” You offer. “And we still have to think about Strauss.”

“Yes, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let’s just focus on tonight.”

“I like that idea,” you grin. “And speaking of tonight, do you mind if I stay?”

“I assumed you were, but of course not. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“I just feel safer here.”

“Safer?”

“I mean, my apartment isn’t exactly in the best area,” you chuckle, swinging your legs. “And I think it’s telling that I felt safe enough to fall asleep and not wake up with every little sound.”

“I was surprised you didn’t wake up when I walked in,” he replies.

“Me too,” you murmur. “But I liked sleeping and not waking up every five minutes.”

“I like that you felt safe enough to.”

You shrug, like it’s nothing. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.” 

But to Aaron, it means everything.

+++

Later, you’re snuggled into Aaron’s side on the couch with a blanket thrown over your legs. The two of you are watching some random rerun of some random show – because you’re dumb and forgot to bring any movies, and he’s too busy to have a single movie here aside from a few cartoons that Jack likes.

After one long episode, you begin to feel Aaron’s hand inch closer to your thigh. Your mind buzzes with the thrill of it, but his hand stops, his palm gently squeezing your thigh, but not moving a single centimeter more. 

“Aaron,” you murmur. “What are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing, little girl,” he pauses, craning his neck to press a kiss to the top of your head. “The real question is, do you want me to stop?”

You can’t help but smile, so you bury your face into his shoulder. “You know my answer.”

“Use your words.”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Please.”

“Please what?”

You lift your head to look into his eyes, the smirk remaining on your lips. “Please, Daddy.”

“That’s better,” he smiles, leaning forward to press another kiss to your lips. “Now, spread your legs for me.”

You do as you’re told, settling back into the couch cushions. The blanket is kicked aside and forgotten on the floor, along with your panties. 

“Don’t make a mess on my couch,” he warns. Then his face lights up like he’s had a brilliant idea. “Actually, come up here.”

You don’t understand where exactly here is until he pats his lap. 

Oh, you are so down for sitting on his lap.

You practically scramble onto his lap, settling over his thighs with your back pressed against his chest. He spreads your legs over both of his, so needless to say, you are wide open and vulnerable — exactly how he wants you. 

His arms circle your waist and pull you into him, and he buries his face in your neck, kissing and nipping, until he finds a nice spot on your shoulder. The neckline of your shirt is stretched and tugged so he can have the best access, and soon you have a dark purple hickey forming on your skin.

He soothes the spot with his tongue, listening intently to your little whimpers and whines. He’s teased you for too long, he knows it. But you haven’t exactly been on your best behavior, so he doesn’t stop.

It doesn’t take long for you to start squirming in his lap, chasing some semblance of friction, but his arms hold you tightly, squeezing in warning. You stop moving, but not without whining.

“Little girl,” he warns. “Don’t move. Understood?”

“Yes—Yeah.”

“You know that’s not how you answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” you groan, ready to scramble from his grip and take care of yourself in the bathroom. You know that wouldn’t work either, though, because he’s bound to break the door down to stop you.

That _would_ look hot, though.

A warm pressure over your pussy brings you right back to Earth. His palm is cupping your heat, and it’s torture. _Delicious torture_ , but torture nonetheless.

Aaron’s middle finger slips inside of you and you muffle a cry, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. This only gives him more access to your neck, which he gladly uses to his advantage while he slowly pumps his finger in and out.

You’re ready to cum right then, but he slows to a stop, pulling his finger from you. Your chest is rising and falling steadily, your mind lost in a haze so thick you don’t even realize he’s spreading your wetness over his index finger. You catch up to his antics when he pushes two fingers back inside you, the stretch from this angle causing your eyes to widen.

“Shhh,” he shushes your whimpers. “You’re being so good for me. My good girl, letting me hold her down like this. I know I’ve been mean, refusing to fuck you, but I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

His sweet nothings in your ear coupled with him adding a third finger nearly sends you over the edge right there. He feels it, too, the way your walls squeeze and flutter around his fingers. All he has to do is suck on your neck and thumb your clit to push you over.

There’s something wildly arousing about being held against his chest, forced to ride out the waves of your orgasm with minimal movement and maximum closeness as he bites another hickey into your neck, completely on accident.

He continues stroking your walls slowly until you’ve calmed down, slumping into his arms, satisfied. You’re too dazed to notice he’s unbuttoning his jeans and lifting you up, so he can slide his pants and boxers off.

You gasp when you feel his bare thighs on yours, his thick cock pressing into your back, already hard. Truthfully, he was hard before he even touched you. But making you cum only made him harder. Something about holding you and listening to your cries always has Aaron feeling like a teenager all over again.

Which is why he almost cums immediately after being inside of you. He holds it together, and you’re still sensitive, still rolling through some small waves of pleasure, and this angle is new. He fills you, stretches you differently this way.

Once he’s fully seated in you, he doesn’t move. He holds you there, both arms circled around your waist, his head buried in your neck, peppering sweet kisses there over the marks he made.

You have no idea how long he holds you there, letting you warm his cock, but you nearly fall asleep. On top of being held like this, you’re realizing you could probably sleep soundly with him deep inside you. Something about it is so soothing, you feel safe.

When he does spill inside of you, it’s after only a few thrusts, and you stay there in his arms, eyes closed, blissfully dozing for what feels like an hour.

He leans back into the couch cushions, keeping you in his arms and comfortable. And safe.  
+++

A hot shower follows, and soon the two of you are in his bed. His arm is around you, allowing you to be tucked into his chest, your head right over his heart. You had forgotten how sweet his heartbeat is. How it’s your favorite lullaby.

It’s getting late and the silence only allows your thoughts to begin brewing. About your earlier conversation, and about what your mom told you. And about what you need to tell Aaron.

You know he needs to know. You know it’s the kind of thing you tell your partner, especially if the two of you are having unprotected sex. You kind of thought Aaron would’ve asked you about it before now. But aside from asking permission to cum inside you that first night, he’s never mentioned it. And you’ve never stopped him, so you wonder why he’s never asked. 

Doesn’t he wonder why you haven’t been worried about getting pregnant? He knows you’re not on birth control, or at least, you think he’d pick up on that, even if he doesn’t outright say it.

You’re not sure what comes over you. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe you’re tired of delaying it, but you blurt, “Do you think it’s wrong for us to be thinking about marriage right now?”

“No,” he replies, surprising you. His breathing hadn’t evened out completely just yet, but you half expected him to be on the edge of sleep, too far gone to answer. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” you say, even though you do. “I guess I’m just worried we’ll rush into it and it’ll end up a mess. That’s what Trevor and I did. Before…Before things got bad, we were so in love. I was so in love with him. Marrying him felt right. I knew we were rushing, but we were young, so I thought it was right. Young people rush things. It’s practically part of our personality.”

Aaron hums, rubbing circles on your arm with his thumb. “And now?”

“Now…” You sigh. “I just want you to know all that you’re getting into.”

“What are you talking about?”

Here goes nothing, you guess. “Aaron, I can’t have kids.”

Silence. You were afraid he’d react with silence. So, you ready yourself for the inevitable ending of things. But you don’t move from his arms. If he’s about to end things, he’ll have to move you off of him.

“Please say something,” you whisper, shifting slightly, hating that your throat feels like it’s closing up. “If you’re upset, or if you want to…to end things here, I get it, I should’ve—”

“Stop, Y/N, stop.” Aaron moves around, sitting up against the headboard, bringing you with him. “Listen to me: I don’t want to end things.”

“You don’t?”

“No, of course not,” he exhales shakily, looking into your eyes. “It’s okay. I’m happy with Jack. I’ve—I don’t regret bringing him into this world, but sometimes I do wonder what would’ve happened if we had thought twice. If I had thought twice about bringing a kid into my world, where I’m always gone and I’m always at risk. He doesn’t know I’m at risk, but he knows I’m gone, and it takes a toll on him. I don’t want to add another kid into the mix.”

Your eyes are welling with tears, and he can see it. It breaks his heart when he had to thumb one away.

“Did you think I was going to end our relationship over that?”

You nod pathetically, hating it when a choked sob creeps up your throat. “I know how much you love Jack and I—I was so sure you wouldn’t want me anymore when you found out I can’t give you another kid.”

“Sweet girl…come here.” Aaron gathers you in his arms, pulling you into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, shushing your cries. “Do the doctors know why? Are you sick?”

“No,” you shake your head, wiping your eyes on his shirt. “They don’t really know why, but I’m not sick or anything. I’ve never gone back for a full diagnosis. And I’ve never worried about it until now.”

“You don’t need to worry about it anymore,” he whispers. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You fall asleep listening to his voice, over and over, saying it’s all okay.


	30. So why do I feel like I'm fooling you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General sadness, angst, and mention of a past suicide attempt

“We _still_ haven’t had our girls’ night, you know,” Penelope says over the phone. “I know you’ve been with Hotch, but we need you too. We had you first.”

You laugh at her, rolling your eyes as you put the dishes away at Aaron’s apartment. You’ve been spending every night here for the past week and a half. The two of you said you’d move slow with the whole moving-in-together thing, but apparently neither of you know what slow means. Because now you have two drawers of clothes here and your toothbrush is on his bathroom counter.

“I know, I know,” you agree. “What about this weekend?”

“I’m free, I think everyone else is, too,” Penelope all but squeals. “What about you and I get brunch tomorrow? Just the two of us?”

“Ooh, I would, but…” You sigh, closing the cabinet, switching your phone from one ear to the other. “I have a psych eval tomorrow.”

“A psych eval?” Penelope blurts, her typing coming to a full stop. “For what?” Her typing starts again.

“From me being shot,” you reply bluntly, stifling a laugh. “And the other…stuff. Aaron said he almost ordered one for me after the case in my hometown but didn’t because I stayed back with my mom for a few days.”

“So why now?”

“Strauss,” you reply tiredly. “Apparently she suggested one and Aaron agreed. I can see why, I mean, if he didn’t then she might’ve gotten suspicious of his work performance or something, which could lead to her being suspicious about other things.”

“Okay first, my dear, I am still not used to hearing you call Mr. Unit Chief by his first name and second,” she pauses, ceasing her typing once more, only leading you to believe she’s snooping, “Strauss must not be suspicious because it looks like Hotch is conducting your psych eval.”

“What?” 

“Mhm,” she hums, typing away. “It says here he’s the one evaluating you tomorrow at noon. So…lunch after that?”

“Lunch after. And Garcia, stop snooping.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “I shall see you tomorrow, my sweet.”

“Goodbye, Pen.”

+++

You didn’t mention Garcia’s information to Hotch when he got home last night. The two of you had dinner, took a shower, and went to sleep – surprisingly without any extra activities, but he was exhausted from work and you’re never one to turn down cuddling.

But one can only begin to imagine the shock on Aaron’s face when you don’t seem the slightest bit surprised about being directed to his office for your psych eval.

“Garcia told you, didn’t she?” Aaron asks, shutting his office door behind you. The blinds are already closed, but for a different privacy reason this time.

“Yes,” you admit. “Just yesterday.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says. This obviously isn’t the first time Garcia has shared information when she technically shouldn’t have. “Have a seat.” He gestures to his couch.

You sit silently, your heart hammering in your chest, and you aren’t sure why. This is Aaron. Your boyfriend. You love him.

Only…right now he isn’t Aaron. He is, but he’s actually Agent Hotchner. Hotch. The Unit Chief. Your boss. You know he won’t hurt you, but you know he’s different when he’s Hotch.

But when he sits in the chair diagonally in front of you, the two sides of him blur together even further.

“I asked Strauss to let me do your psych eval since you are my agent.”

You nod slowly, knowing there has to be more to his explanation. “What did she say?”

“She was skeptical,” Hotch sighs, crossing his legs. “But she understood more when I told her my other reasoning.”

“Which was?”

He smiles softly, feeling the waves of your anxiety rolling off of you like mini tsunamis. “Your background. How this is only precautionary because of what you went through, not a decision you deliberately and consciously made that put the team and yourself in jeopardy.”

“Didn’t I do that, though?” You murmur, averting your eyes from his to the floor. “I made that call when the unsub called me. I chose to meet with her. You hadn’t approved it yet.”

“Yes,” Hotch agrees quietly. “You did. But if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have caught her. The unsub might’ve escaped altogether.”

“If I hadn’t,” you repeat, “then we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have been shot.”

Hotch takes a moment, gathering his thoughts, wishing silently that you’d look at him. It’s barely been two minutes of the evaluation and your guilt runs far deeper than he thought. But there’s no way he could’ve known. The two of you entered into some unspoken agreement to not discuss the case. Even Aaron asking about how your leg was feeling was sensitive, almost too much some days. He knows the two of you should’ve talked about it more before now – as a couple.

Now, you’re both forced to enter the conversation as two different versions of yourselves. Both of which never agree.

“I agree, you should not have made that decision. You should have asked me for approval, but I’m aware you assumed I would say no – and you are most likely correct. On that same topic, Agent Morgan should have come to me after the two of you discussed it. I’ve already spoken to him about this, I’m only telling you as well so you can see all angles.” He pauses, watching you nod slowly. “You are not entirely at fault here. Yes, that decision was poorly made and rushed, but the end result was what we wanted. It arguably made me reflect on my own performance and think what I could do better to make myself more approachable.”

“No, Hotch, it was a stupid idea, I put myself in danger—”

“Agent L/N, you put yourself in danger the very first day you walked through those doors to accept this position. Every case that we go out on, we are in danger. Did you put yourself in a riskier environment by making that call? Yes. But we all do that every time we corner an unsub or even go out for interviews. It’s simply part of this job, and you were made aware of that when you accepted the position, so I assume you’ve come to terms with it.”

“I have. But… Never mind. Okay.” 

“Look at me, please,” Hotch – no, Aaron says. “Y/N.”

Upon hearing your name and his change in tone, you lift your eyes.

He exhales, wishing he could hold you, but knowing it would be unprofessional right now. “All that you did wrong was make the call to meet the unsub. All that I ask is that you run your ideas – even those that seem stupid or dangerous – by me next time. That is all.”

“You’re not angry.”

“I was at the time. I was frustrated that we were cornered into that decision, shocked that you and Agent Morgan discussed it without coming to me. But now, I only want you to see how you can improve in the future. Do you understand?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Now,” he uncrosses his legs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “How are you doing? Aside from feeling guilty, which we will work on.”

“I’m alright.”

“Please, be honest with me.”

“As your girlfriend or your agent?”

“Right now, unfortunately, as my agent.”

You figured. It was a stupid question to ask. “I’m okay. Been better, but I’ve also been worse.”

“What are your thoughts on staying at the BAU?”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

“I’m not firing you,” Hotch says before you can ask. “It’s a standard question. It’s normal for agents to leave the unit after being injured in the field. It’s common, actually.”

“Uh, well, I haven’t. Thought about leaving, I mean. My mom mentioned it, but she’s mentioned it after almost every case. I don’t want to leave, though, no.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Hotch nods. “When are you hoping to be back in the field?”

“As soon as my doctor says I can.”

“Good. Correct answer,” he smirks. “How about the team? How do you feel toward them?”

“Is this another standard question?”

“It is,” he says. “It’s also common for agents to hold a grudge against their fellow team members after being injured. It’s an early sign of their leave. If they say they hold a grudge, they usually leave within the year.”

“Good thing I hold no grudges, then.”

“Alright. How are you and Agent Morgan?”

“We’re fine,” you shrug, instinctively glancing toward the window, only to be reminded that the blinds are closed. Granted, you didn’t even see Morgan when you came in. “We haven’t really discussed what happened in depth, but we’re fine.”

“Anyone else?”

“All good. Garcia and I are having lunch after this. The girls and I are gonna have a night together soon.”

“Good,” Hotch smiles. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“They want all the details on you,” you tease, realizing only when Hotch’s face flushes that you forgot your professionalism for a moment.

“We’ll be discussing that later,” he says. “One more standard question: How is your PTSD?”

You should’ve known this one was coming. He’s practically been dancing around it the whole time. “It’s good.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“It’s been better,” you try again. “But it’s also been much, much worse.”

“Can you elaborate, please?”

You sigh. “I don’t have nightmares every night anymore. That’s better. They were bad during the case in my hometown, but I expected that. They’ve calmed down since…since spending more time with you. As of right now, my overall paranoia is down. My anxiety is high today because of this. My depression is better since…you know. I’m still jumpy,” you admit. “I jumped earlier this morning when the dishwasher finished and unlocked. I jumped last night when you set a bowl down in the sink. It—But I used to not be able to leave the house much aside from work. I used to sleep with a crowbar in bed next to me with my gun under my pillow, and a baseball bat by my bedroom door. Pepper spray used to hide in every corner of my apartment. I’m better now than I was then.”

“Okay.”

“I know that was a lot, but that was just the general rundown. There’s more to it, but that’s all I can think of right now. But the important thing is I’m better.”

“Okay,” Hotch says again. “I believe you. You don’t need to prove your wellbeing to me.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, letting your shoulders drop. They’ve practically been up by your ears this entire time. “Is that everything?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re not unstable or unfit to continue in your position with this team once you are recovered. As soon as you get the all clear from your doctor, you are welcome to come back.”

“Thank God,” you let out a nervous laugh. “Thank you sir, for doing my evaluation.”

“You’re welcome,” he says gently. “Now,” he pauses, standing from his chair to move next to you. 

His arm stretches over the back of the couch, fingertips touching your shoulder. You haven’t yet relaxed into his touch or looked at him. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, not…not really.”

“What’s going on? What are you thinking about?”

You turn your head to look at him, smiling sadly. “Are you still my boss?”

“No,” he says, pausing to kiss your forehead. “What’s going on?”

“These things—Granted, this one wasn’t that bad, but these always remind me of…worse off times.”

“Like…?”

“Remember how I told you I rolled my mom’s car when I was seventeen?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

Aaron’s expression softens. 

“My mom didn’t know, but of course given my history they had me evaluated. It was the first one I ever went through, and it was the worst one. It was as traumatic as they come, and I’ve never been able to shake the anxiety.”

Aaron sighs deeply, not knowing what else to say other than, “Can I hug you?”

You answer by throwing your arms around his neck, relaxing only when he wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you into his lap, very glad in this moment that he closed the blinds. He had every intention to for privacy purposes during the evaluation, but now he’s thankful to hold you.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you murmur, sniffling, more from emotion than tears. “So much, you have no idea.”

+++

Lunch with Garcia means the two of you ended up ordering your favorite in and using her office as a movie theatre – as usual.

It also means you were invaded by practically all of the team once you finished eating. You swear, they were listening in to wait for the movie to end and the chewing to stop.

“I had to have a psych eval,” you announce the second the door opens to reveal Morgan, JJ, Reid, and Emily. “And yes, Aar—Hotch conducted it. He asked Strauss if he could and she agreed. _No_ , we didn’t have sex because yes, you would’ve heard us.” You smirk in triumph when you see Morgan’s disgusted face. “Any other questions?”

“Uh, I have one,” Emily says, raising her hand. “ _When_ are we having a girl’s night?”

“Soon,” you promise. “This Saturday?”

“I’m free,” JJ says.

“Saturday it is,” Emily grins.

“Looks like it’ll be me and you, kid,” Morgan says sadly – dramatically – as he claps Reid on the shoulder.

“I’m reading all weekend,” Reid replies, not in the least bit fazed.

Morgan sighs in defeat. “Fine. Looks like I’ll fly solo.”

“When do you not?” You tease.

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles. “Why don’t the guys get to know the details?”

“Morgan, I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to hear about how good our boss is in bed,” Reid says nonchalantly, shrug and all, before taking the lollipop Garcia was holding out to him (she knew he was searching for it).

“Fair point,” Morgan replies. “So I think that is our cue.”

“Mm, Garcia do you have another one?” Reid asks, the lollipop already in his right cheek.

“Later,” Garcia laughs. “You’ll rot your teeth and then you’ll be a pretty genius with cavities.”

He scrunches up his nose but doesn’t argue as Derek leads him out of Garcia’s office. You spin around in your chair, stealing one of the other candies Garcia has in a bowl.

“So…how good is he?” Emily asks, nudging your shoulder.

You nearly choke on your own saliva. “What?”

“We asked for details,” Garcia says. “We meant it.”

“You’re serious?”

“Uh…yeah,” JJ laughs, shutting the door. “So?”

“ _So good_ ,” you blurt. “Like…a dream, but that is all I’m saying because we won’t have anything to talk about on Saturday if I don’t shut up right now. And you won’t get any work done if I don’t get my butt out of here.”

“Fine, my love, if you insist,” Garcia sighs.

You leave Garcia’s office with JJ and Emily in tow. You go back into the bullpen to look for Hotch, this time finding him in his office with the blinds opened again. He’s on the phone, though, and you don’t want to bother him. So, you almost leave, but he catches your eyes through the window and waves you over.

You step into his office quietly, waiting with a smile as he finishes his phone call, only he doesn’t look happy.

“Who was it?” You ask.

“A detective from Arizona,” Aaron says, standing to round his desk, gathering you in his arms. “Requesting our assistance, but I’ve told him all I could over the phone.”

“You don’t think we could help?”

He shakes his head. “No. And regardless, you aren’t helping. You’re out for the time being.”

“I know, I know.”

“Good,” he nods, leaning his head down to capture your lips, sweetly, slowly. “I’ll try not to be so late getting home tonight.”

“Just let me know,” you say, accepting another kiss.

Neither of you care that the blinds are open, that the team has seen you kissing, holding one another in your arms. 

And neither of you care that Aaron’s apartment has somehow become home. For the both of you.


	31. He's a right answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! Shower sex, oral (f receiving), soft sex

Grocery shopping with Aaron Hotchner is beautifully domestic.

The side of him that you see when he’s grabbing cookies and chips is a side that made you fall in love with him all over again. He grabbed a box of cookies off the shelf with the widest smile because they’re Jack’s favorite and he’s wanted to have some at his apartment for when Jack visits.

When he had to reach a box of cereal off the very top shelf, it made you stop and stare and grin. You told him about how you used to climb the shelves in stores because you didn’t have anyone like him around to help.

But girls’ night is officially happening. Tonight. Finally.

Currently, Aaron is driving you back to your apartment from the grocery store. He insists on spending every last minute before you kick him out, but you don’t mind.

The only thing you do mind is that he won’t give it up about you using your apartment for girls’ night instead of his.

“You can use the apartment for girls’ night, you know.”

“Aaron, we’ve been over this,” you say. “I’m not taking over your apartment with the girls. Mine will be just fine, and better. I haven’t been back in a couple weeks, anyway.”

“What’s mine is yours, you know that,” he reminds you, reaching across to take your hand. Gently kissing your knuckles, he murmurs, “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I know,” you say, smiling at him. “But I don’t think you want the girls invading your apartment, trust me.” You pause, watching his face. “What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” he replies, but he says it too quickly.

“Aaron.”

“It’s nothing,” he repeats, squeezing your hand. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I will be safe,” you promise him. “I won’t be alone.” You pause, reluctant. “Is there a reason you’re saying that?”

“Hm?”

“Is there something I don’t know about that would make me unsafe?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he rushes out, realizing his mistake.

“Okay…”

“I love you,” he says. “That’s why I want you to be safe. That’s all.”

“I love you too,” you sigh, smirking. “Even if you are a little neurotic.”

He laughs loudly then, the kind you’re starting to hear more often, kissing your knuckles again before he lightly nips at your finger, teasing you.

After hauling the groceries into your apartment – snacks, wine, the works – and putting them away, you get ready to shower.

“You’re lucky I have time,” you giggle, watching him tug his shirt and pants off while you undress as well.

“You’re right, I am lucky,” he remarks, eyes dragging up and down your naked body. His eyes linger on the scar on your thigh where the bullet entered, and you see his demeanor change.

“Aaron…” You step out of your clothes and closer to him. “I’m okay.”

“I know you are now,” he says softly, fingertips grazing the scar. “Does it still hurt?”

“It aches,” you admit quietly. “But I think it always will.”

With this somber change in mood, you expect the shower to be uneventful and quiet – but you don’t mind. Spending time with him is perfect, no matter what the two of you are doing. And if he needs you to just simply be in his arms right now, then you’re fine with that. Always.

It’s not until you’re grabbing the bodywash that you realize Aaron does have other intentions because as you turn, his hands find your hips and keep you still.

He kneels down right there in the shower, peppering kisses to your hipbones and thighs.

“Babe?” You run your fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back from his eyes. A gasp leaves your lips when he presses a soft kiss right over your scar.

“Feel free to hold on,” he murmurs, looking up from between your legs with a smirk. “You might need to.”

“You cocky little— _Oh, Jesus Christ_.” 

You feel the vibrations from his laughter right in your core while he sucks on your clit greedily. Your legs widen instinctively, giving him more room, which he gladly takes advantage of.

Despite the assault on your pussy from his lips, his fingers rub soothing circles on your thighs. The contrast only has your eyes rolling back, especially when his tongue enters you.

Your fingers thread through his hair and you grip tightly, holding on for dear life, earning a groan from Aaron that sends more warmth through your body.

You didn’t think it possible for him to go even deeper, but he practically buries himself in your pussy, humming while he nips and sucks in all the right places.

“Aaron, Aaron wait—I’m gonna—Fuck!”

He pulls back only to say, “Good.”

“No, no,” you whine, tugging at his hair, trying to hold off your orgasm while he continues tongue-fucking you. “I want you inside me when I do— Please, Daddy.”

He pulls back again, smirking now, pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh. “I will be. And you’ll cum again. But I want one now.”

He returns to his spot between your legs, his nose bumping your sensitive clit and nearly sending you over the edge right there. But he can feel you holding back, protesting in your own way, so he spreads his hands over your ass and pulls you in, groaning when your muscles begin to spasm.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, holding you tighter when he feels you slipping. You’re gripping his hair tighter than you ever have, eyes pinched shut. One final thrust of Aaron’s tongue is all it takes for you to completely give in.

Your moans echo loudly off the shower walls, your hands moving from his hair to his shoulders. A broken sob rips from your chest as you bend over, the pleasure too much for you to handle while standing up on your own.

Aaron soothes you with one last kiss on your lips before he stands, gathering you in his arms.

“Too much?” He asks tentatively, kissing your forehead. He reaches back and adjusts the shower, so it isn’t as cold.

“No,” you say, fingers gripping his arms. “I need you. Please.”

“You’ve got me, sweet girl,” he coos. “Come here.”

He guides you to the other side of the shower where he can lift you up, helping you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s reminiscent of the second time the two of you had sex back in the hotel. When he wanted to be softer with you. And you begged him not to.

Both of your hands cup his jaw, an action so gentle that he can’t help but say, “I love you.”

You answer with a kiss, moaning into his mouth when you feel the head of his cock pressing at your entrance. 

His thrusts are soft and slow, more precise than ever, and you know the shower has something to do with that. But still, when you feel him spilling inside of you, it’s comforting.

Or, it would’ve been, if it weren’t for your phone ringing like crazy on the bathroom counter.

“Ugh,” you laugh, leaning your forehead on his shoulder, his cock still deep inside you. “I guess I need to get that. It’s probably the girls.”

Carefully, he sets you down, and you hop out of the shower to see it’s Emily that is calling.

“Hello?” You lift the lid and sit down on the toilet.

“Hey! What time did you want us to come over again?”

“Uh… In an hour is good.”

“Got it. Sorry, are you showering?”

“I was,” you chuckle. “But it’s okay.”

“Sorry… Oh, tell Hotch I say hi.”

“Oh my God—Goodbye Em.”

You hang up with a scoff, setting your phone back down on the counter. As you pull the curtain back and step in behind Aaron, you can’t help but take him in.

“What?” You ask when he catches you staring. “You have a nice ass.”

He laughs loudly, pulling you into him. “Thank you.” He kisses you deeply, pausing only to ask, “Who was that?”

“It was Emily. She says hi.”

He shakes his head, pulling you back in.

+++

By the time the girls arrive, Aaron is still here, not even fully dressed yet – so you guess it’s a good thing the two of you gave up on hiding a long time ago.

Aaron throws a shirt on while you go to answer the door, resulting in a tackling of hugs from Emily, JJ, and Pen.

“This is going to be the best night ever,” Pen gushes. “I need to know everything about—Oh. Hi…Sir.”

You turn when you see Pen’s startled expression, finding Aaron standing there in his jeans and t-shirt. “Oh, hey babe. The girls are here.”

“I see that,” he smiles. “And please, no need to be formal right now, Garcia. We’re all off the clock.”

“Yep,” she nods. “Never gonna be used to this.”

“Oh, PG,” Emily wraps her arm around Garcia’s shoulders. “None of us will either.”

You roll your eyes. “You guys are dramatic.”

Aaron grabs his keys and phone from the counter, stopping by you to kiss your head. “I’m off to pick up Jack.”

“Have fun,” you grin, leaning into his chest for a hug, then puckering your lips for a kiss, which he obliges.

“Be safe,” he says to all of you. As he’s walking out the door, he turns back to look at JJ. “Have you heard anything else from Arizona?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing today.”

“Okay,” he says. “Have a good night.”

When he closes the door, all eyes turn to JJ.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she sighs. “They haven’t officially invited us in…yet. But they’ve been in contact, and it’s bad. But,” she waves her hands, “we’re not talking about work while we’re here.”

“Yes,” Pen agrees. “Work is off limits.”

“Fine by me,” Emily nods. “Where’s the wine?”

A couple glasses of wine later, and your tongue is finally loose enough to spill details about you and Aaron’s relationship.

“The two of you were having sex earlier when I called, weren’t you?”

“No!” You try to defend yourself. “He was in the shower. I was…not.”

“Oh, but you were,” Emily laughs. “I can tell! Just look at your face!”

“I don’t wanna look at my face!” You grin. “I know it gives away my secrets.”

“You can’t hide around us,” JJ adds, raising her glass.

“And as much as I love seeing you this happy,” Pen smiles, squeezing your knee, “I still am not comprehending how that’s…Hotch.”

“That’s the thing, though,” you shrug. “He’s not Hotch, he’s Aaron. He’s a good cook, he’s a good singer – at least when he’s humming.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Hotch sing,” JJ says.

“It was a surprise for sure,” you smile. “But he’s just… He’s different. I love the side of him when he’s at work – all serious, in charge, headstrong. But the side of him that I’ve gotten to see since being back here has made me fall even more in love with him—And that sounds so gross, oh my God.”

“Not gross,” Pen scoffs. “It’s cute. And you look really happy.”

“I am really happy,” you whisper. “I don’t…I don’t wanna jinx anything, but we’ve talked. About marriage.”

“Really?” Pen’s face lights up.

“That’s amazing,” Emily adds.

“What did you say?” JJ asks.

“We both said we want that, but right now we’re just…staying put. It’s still early, even though I’ve practically lived at his place since my mom went back home. But we don’t want to move too fast. I mean, I haven’t even met Jack yet. And Jack’s a big part of his world.”

“Jack will love you,” JJ assures you.

“Thanks,” you say. “I don’t even know if Aaron has told Jack about me yet, though.”

“Maybe he has,” Pen shrugs. “You never know.”

“I bet he has,” Emily says.

+++

And Emily is correct.

Because while the girls are sharing wine, Jack is over at Aaron’s apartment, watching cartoons while Aaron makes breakfast for dinner – Jack’s favorite.

“Hey buddy, dinner’s almost ready. Can you go wash your hands for me?”

Jack nods and scrambles off to the bathroom (which now has a small stepstool in front of the sink, just for Jack). When he comes back, he has a puzzled look on his face, one that Aaron immediately recognizes.

“That’s a serious thinking face,” Aaron says as he carries two plates of waffles and bacon over to the table. “What are you thinking about?”

Jack stares at the waffles for a moment. “Whose toothbrush is that?”

Aaron completely forgot.

“Oh,” Aaron says. “Well.” He pauses, sitting down. “You know I’m always honest with you, buddy.”

Jack nods.

“And this time is no different,” Aaron says. “That’s…my girlfriend’s toothbrush.”

“Your girlfriend?” Jack asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Since when?”

“A few weeks,” Aaron says. 

“Hm. Okay.”

Aaron watches his son start shoveling pieces of waffle into his mouth without a care in the world.

“What’s her name?” Jack finally asks through a mouthful of food.

“Y/N,” Aaron replies. “And finish chewing before you speak, remember?”

Jack nods and keeps chewing, waiting until after he’s swallowed to say, “Do you love her?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Like you loved Mommy?”

Aaron sighs. “No. Not like I loved Mom. It’s a different love.”

“But you still love her?”

“I do.”

“Does she love you?”

“She does,” Aaron pauses. “Where are all these questions coming from?”

“Mommy was worried you had a girlfriend that didn’t love you.”

Aaron slowly nods. “Okay. Thanks, buddy.”

Aaron never gets the chance to ask Haley about this, though, because he has to drop Jack off in a hurry after getting a direct phone call from the sheriff in Arizona.

“JJ,” Hotch sighs into the phone, already in his car with his go-bag in the passenger seat. “Gather everyone and meet in fifteen. There’s been another fire.”

+++

Back at your apartment, JJ comes back from the kitchen with a frown.

“No,” Garcia groans. “Really?”

“Seriously?” Emily adds. “Right now?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta call Morgan and Reid. It’s Arizona.”

“I’ll call Morgan,” Garcia offers, pulling out her phone.

“What is it?” You ask, knowing it must be bad if it’s this urgent. It’s almost nine on a Saturday evening, for Christ’s sake.

“Arsonist,” JJ explains, her phone held up to her other ear. “Hey Spence. Hotch needs us at the office in fifteen.” After hanging up, she adds, “The fires have been completely random. The first two were house fires that they assumed were the result of weather, but then it was a church, an office building, and this one was a gas station.”

“Damn,” you groan. “Lemme get dressed.”

“Woah,” Emily stops you with a laugh. “You’re not supposed to be at work again yet.”

“I’m not gonna get on the jet,” you say. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Don’t try arguing with her,” Garcia chuckles. “Even Derek says it’s a lost cause. Oh, but you will have to deal with Hotch.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure them, even though you hadn’t thought about that yet.

It’s not like you’ll be doing anything wrong, technically. You’ll just sit in on the briefing, that’s all. You’re not getting on the jet or expecting to. 

And besides, what he doesn’t know, won’t kill him.


	32. I hope I never lose you, hope this never ends

You and the girls are the first ones (miraculously) to the office, so you’re able to sneak in without Aaron stopping you at the door. 

Speaking of Aaron, you’re too busy spinning in an office chair in the conference room to notice he’s arrived, and you only realize when JJ clears her throat, pointing toward the doorway.

You stop spinning and turn to look, waiting for your eyes to focus and the walls to stop rolling. Once they do, you can fully see Aaron’s scowl.

“Hi ba— _Sir_. Hi sir.”

Your stammering makes him smirk ever so slightly, but the frown returns. “You know you’re not supposed to be here. You aren’t cleared to travel.”

“Who said I’m traveling?”

“You’re _not_ ,” he says firmly, walking in and taking the chair across from you. “I can clear you to work on this case, but you are staying here with Garcia. And you are not to overwork yourself. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh, holding back an eye roll. “I will stay in Garcia’s lair and I won’t overwork myself,” you repeat the parameters, not intending to be bratty, but it happens anyway.

“Good,” he replies. “And watch your tone, little girl,” he adds quietly, but everyone heard, and everyone definitely saw the way your eyes widened.

Even Morgan, who just walked in with Reid. “ _What_ did I just walk in on?”

“Nothing,” you blurt, kicking Emily’s shin under the table when she snorts. “Nothing. How was guys’ night?”

Morgan gives you a look, but Reid starts spouting off about how they hung out and got dinner and he drug Morgan to this old movie theatre that was playing the original Star Trek movies, and how devastated he was that they only got to see two.

“ _Only_ two,” Morgan mocks, turning to pour a cup of coffee. “How was girls’ night?”

“Amazing, until someone had to set a gas station on fire.”

Morgan snorts at your comment, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Let’s get started,” Hotch says, smiling a little, but steering everyone back on track, like always.

JJ nods, standing up and grabbing the remote. “Sheriff Johnson from Winslow, Arizona, PD called a few days ago when he suspected arson—” 

“Winslow, Arizona? Like in The Eagles’ song?”

Hotch gives you a tired look.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, grimacing, yet it’s oddly reminiscent of some of the first few days you worked here. “Continue.”

Clips of the news from that day pop up on the screen, shocking you. Two houses, almost identical in style, with flames pouring from every window, smoke towering above.

“These two houses belonged to the Smith and Miller families,” JJ clicks again, and family portraits come up in front of the burning houses. “The Smiths had two sons, the Millers two daughters. Both families died in the fire – Mr. Smith died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, he never made it past the end of the street.”

You’ve never encountered an arsonist case, but you’ve heard about them, of course. And you’ve heard how bad they can be. This, so far, is almost nothing. It’s concerning, sure, but you’re waiting for it to get worse, for the reason they called to be revealed.

“Then,” JJ clicks again, “two days ago, this Protestant church went up in flames in the middle of Sunday service. Only two people died, but twenty were injured and sent to the hospital – which left only ten people completely unharmed.” The burning church photo is then replaced with an office building that is up in flames. “This office building belonged to a startup company that had just moved in. Eric Hanover is the owner, and thankfully no one was in the office, so no one was harmed. However,” JJ pauses, and you keep thinking there can’t be another one, even though you know there is. “This is the gas station that was set on fire just an hour ago.” 

Clips of live news footage now play, showing Winslow’s fire department still wrangling the fire, and struggling.

You flinch when an explosion booms on screen. The audio is muted, but the image was enough. Obviously, this is the _worse_ you were looking for.

Hotch glances at you momentarily in worry, but you shake your head, brushing him off. “Is it just me, or does a gas station feel like a huge step up from the last few? I mean, gas creates explosions like that.” You point to the screen. “And anyone could’ve been in there, I mean, at least with the houses and the church and office building, they had set owners and residents that could’ve been potential targets. This seems like a random fire just for fun.”

“I agree, Winslow, Arizona, has a population of 9,476, so these fires are appearing very personal. We don’t know yet if these people had any connections to one another, but in a town this small, I think it’s safe to assume they do,” Reid adds.

“Garcia, look as deep as you can into the Smith and Miller families. See if they knew each other, if they went to the church, if they knew Eric Hanover. Look at where they spent money, who they called. Anything you can find.”

“On it,” Garcia nods, making a quick note.

“What can I do?” You ask Garcia, but Hotch answers.

“Look at the information and try to make some connections for us here. We’ll need as fast of a headstart as we can get.”

“Alright,” you nod.

“We need to get going, so wheels up in ten. If you don’t have anything with you, get it in Arizona,” Hotch orders, standing from his chair.

“Guess it’s a good thing I left my go-bag here,” Emily says, standing. “Also, thank you, my shin is going to be bruised tomorrow because of you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile sweetly.

“Y/N, I need to see you in my office for a moment.”

You freeze, hearing the tone in Hotch’s voice, and so does everyone else – although Emily raises her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes, sir,” you call after him as he disappears to his office. You look back at Emily with a glare. “It’s probably just some paperwork so I can work on this case.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan laughs, rolling his hips. “ _Paperwork_.”

“I hate all of you,” you smack Morgan’s shoulder on your way out.

Hotch is grabbing his go-bag from behind his desk when you walk in. He looks more than stressed, and you hate it. You hated it before the two of you got over yourselves and confessed your feelings, but now you hate it more. As if that makes any sense.

“Close the door,” he says quietly.

Now you’re skeptical. 

But you close the door anyway, flicking the lock just in case.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Yes,” he says. “I just need you to sign some paperwork before we leave.”

You pause, blinking in confusion and shock. “Paperwork?”

“Yes,” Hotch confirms, grabbing a literal form from the corner of his desk. “It’s just a formality after everything, but Strauss is big on formality, as you know.”

“Right,” you nod. Paperwork. _Literal_ paperwork. The fucking irony of it all.

You grab a pen from his desk, signing and initialing on the paper where he points, trying to control your brain and its dirty thoughts. Once you’re finished, he says you can run it Strauss’s office or have one of the interns take it. 

You’ll definitely be handing it off to an intern because you need to tell Pen about this immediately.

“Have a safe flight,” you say, holding onto the paperwork awkwardly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aaron smiles, gently taking your hand as he kisses you on the lips. “Don’t overwork yourself. I’m serious.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he peppers one more kiss on your forehead. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to say that to me, you know. Take as long as you need. All that matters is making sure no one else gets hurt.”

One more kiss is pressed to your lips, this one out of gratitude and understanding. He doesn’t like leaving you here, but he’s glad you can at least understand the situation better than anyone else.

When you step out of Hotch’s office, the entire team is down in the bullpen – including Rossi now, who looks like this fire interrupted his eventful evening – crowding around Morgan’s desk. Their eyes all flick toward the movement and they’re all giving you knowing looks.

You hold up the paperwork with a glare pointed right at Morgan. You’d bet real money if his comment jinxed you. Idiot.

“We’re leaving,” Hotch says from behind you, getting everyone’s attention.

You walk ahead of him, down to the bullpen and hand off the paperwork to one of the interns with instructions on where to go. Garcia is waiting for you by the glass doors with her arm extended. You gladly hook yours with hers and walk out toward the elevator, where the team is filing in. 

She blows Morgan a kiss and you smile at Hotch, unsure of what to do, especially since he just…what _did_ he just do? Did he just cockblock you?

You’re more than confused and he will be hearing about this from you later.

Once the elevator doors close, and your brain registers the smirk on Hotch’s face, you groan. Morgan might’ve cockblocked you at first, but Hotch definitely enjoyed frustrating you.

“What?” Garcia asks, tugging you off toward her office.

“He cockblocked me on purpose. Can he even cockblock me? Is that how that works?”

“Who?”

“Morgan said paperwork and then I ended up signing some literal paperwork. I wanted—Never mind. I should _not_ be talking about this in here.”

Garcia laughs loudly, squeezing your arm. “You absolutely should. Even if I’m not used to it, I still want to hear it.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“It’s just what I do,” she grins. “Coffee?”

“Please,” you nod. “If we’re going to be up all night, I’m going to need it.”

“You and me both, my friend.”

+++

“Garcia, what have you found?” Hotch asks from the plane. You’re so used to being on the jet and seeing Garcia through the screen. It’s odd for you to be on the opposite side for once.

“All kinds of crossroads, I mean, seriously, I could summon a thousand demons and I’m not even finished.”

Garcia’s comment makes you snort, and then you realize you’re also on camera, so you calm your laughter by drinking your coffee. 

“There’s only a handful of schools in the area, so the Smith and Miller families, their kids were at school together, and there’s record of the parents being on the PTA. Then, that church, they both went to it, and so did Eric Hanover and his family. Oh, and the gas station? Owned by Kevin, Eric’s uncle, but thankfully he wasn’t working when the fire happened.”

“Have you found any enemies yet?”

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you jump in. “So of course not. But, all this crossover tells us it’s either someone local who has a grudge or it’s someone who just likes setting fires all over the place.”

“Let’s go with someone local,” Hotch says, eyeing you carefully. He’s well aware that you’re frustrated, but he’s going to keep an eye on you. “Keep digging.”

You nearly mutter, “ _obviously_ ,” under your breath, but you stop yourself. You can be a brat to him later, not in front of everyone.

You idly listen to them go over the preliminary profile, mostly just throwing out guesses and seeing if anything sticks right now. Unfortunately, with arsonists, they won’t know much of anything until they go to the crime scenes – no matter how charred they are.

After Garcia disconnects from the jet, she turns to you with a look. “You are seriously frustrated.”

“It’s only because he decided to deprive me at the last minute. I mean, we have no idea how long they’ll be gone—” 

“Weren’t you two in the shower this morning?”

“Yes, but—”

Garcia shakes her head with a laugh. “Have some candy and help me witch hunt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grab a piece of candy and unwrap it, popping it into your mouth. “It also doesn’t help that this is my first arsonist case and I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to be anywhere near fire, but then again there’s a reason I stay in here behind my screens.”

“You don’t wish you were traveling?”

“I like traveling, my dear, but not that much. And not to see dead bodies.”

“Fair,” you shrug. “It can get exhausting, I guess. But you still see everything in here.”

“I see pictures and codes,” Garcia taps your arm with the end of her sparkly pink pen. “You see all the blood and gore and gross stuff. Which is fuel for nightmares, if I say so myself. How do you not get nightmares?”

“Oh, I do,” you reply. “I just ignore them.”

Garcia goes quiet, and you don’t realize it until a moment later that she’s staring at you. 

“What?”

“That’s not healthy, my dear.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Aaron tells me that.”

“I tell you what?”

You look back to the screen to see that the team has reconnected, and Aaron is giving you a worried look.”

“Nothing,” you smile. “What’s up?”

Morgan spouts off about something, but you keep your eyes trained on Aaron. And even though you don’t think he can tell you’re looking at him, you know he’s looking right at you.


	33. You have someone that loves you

Working the arsonist case goes on into the night. You and Garcia blow through another pot of coffee before a semblance of a lead comes up.

Good news is, though, the gas station fire – or explosion, as you’re calling it – had no injuries. You have no idea how, but you’re thankful the most was a sprained ankle from the worker. He was running so fast to get out of there that he rolled his ankle, aggravating an old injury.

Right now, with the office building and the gas station having zero injuries, you’re worried this unsub will start another fire at any second. Literally any second because there’s been no timeline to this.

The Smith and Miller homes were set on fire during the night. The Protestant Church went up in flames on a Sunday morning. Both at times when injuries would be expected, and deaths resulted.

But the office building was set on fire midday, when deaths would be expected, only no one was there. Same with the gas station. The fire was set at night, when at least one worker would be there, and given that it’s a gas station, customers at that hour are a given. But no one was injured, not even the worker – aside from the irritation to his ankle.

“Arsonists don’t actually desire to kill; the killing is almost accidental or disregarded in their minds.”

“So, what, are we thinking this unsub is one of those arsonists? He’s just setting fire to these buildings for fun and the people who were hurt were collateral damage?” You ask.

“It’s a possibility,” Hotch says.

“But that makes no sense,” you reply, noticing the way his eyebrows raise on the screen. “I mean, these fires were all set at times when you’d expect death to result. If this arsonist isn’t after killing anyone, then why is he setting them at these times?”

“Arsonists are incredibly random,” Reid adds. “It’s what makes them hardest to catch.”

“I know,” you nod. “I’m just worried that this guy is going to start another fire really soon, especially if he is after killing someone. If that’s where he gets his thrill.”

“We’ll get officers to check on Eric Hanover and his uncle,” Hotch decides. “Putting police cars outside their homes might help deter the arsonist if he is after them.”

“Wouldn’t fire trucks be more helpful?” You question. “Especially since we are dealing with an arsonist.”

You can see you’re starting to get on Aaron’s nerves, but your brain hardly registers it.

“Fire trucks would draw too much attention,” he replies. “But we’ll make sure they are prepared to move faster than normal.”

“They probably already…are…” Your words slow when Hotch gives you a hardening look, one that has you cowering in your seat. Maybe you are being mouthy, but it’s not your fault. You’re stuck behind a screen, and Garcia is gone to get snacks from the kitchen, so it’s just you. And it’s not like Hotch isn’t asking for your input.

“I’ll be calling you in five minutes,” he says monotonously. “Don’t decline the call.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaves the screen to speak with some officers about visiting Eric and Kevin’s homes. Emily and JJ raise their eyebrows at you.

“What?” You ask defensively. “He was asking for my input.”

“Yeah,” Emily laughs. “But not your sass.”

“Listen, it’s six in the morning, I’m exhausted. What does he expect from me?”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs. “But have fun with that phone call.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you scoff, turning your phone face up so you’ll see when it comes in. “Was I bitchy?”

Emily shakes her head. “No. But in Hotch’s eyes? Probably.”

“Great.”

You’re definitely going to get it when he calls you, then.

Garcia comes back with an armful of snacks, announcing her presence with, “What did I miss? Why the smirks?”

Emily answers. “Y/N sassed her boyfriend.”

“No, Y/N sassed our _unit chief_ ,” JJ corrects her. “He doesn’t look very happy.”

Garcia gives you a look.

“I’m getting a phone call in five minutes,” you sigh. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re gonna need more than luck, my friend,” Garcia chuckles, sitting back down and adjusting her headset. “But sure, good luck.”

“You three are the worst.”

As if on cue, your phone begins ringing with **Hotchner** appearing over a smiling picture of Aaron. The dichotomy of your unit chief and your boyfriend.

You share a look with your girls before standing, lifting the phone to your ear. “Agent Y/N.”

“Go to my office.”

“Yes…sir,” you furrow your eyebrows, looking back at Garcia with a confused shrug.

You exit her office and walk back to the bullpen, pushing open the glass doors. The silence in your ear is deafening as you walk up the stairs and into Hotch’s office, shutting the door behind you.

“I’m here,” you say, reaching under the lampshade to turn on a light.

“Good. Sit down on the couch.”

You obey, and for a moment, your brain runs wild with the possibilities. He deprived you before he left, but maybe now he’s going to relieve some of your frustrations through the phone.

Your hope deflates like a sad birthday balloon when he speaks again. “Lay down. And go to sleep.”

“What?” You blurt.

“You heard me,” he says. “Go to sleep. You’re exhausted and irritable and you need your rest.”

“Aaron—”

“Y/N. I am serious. If I see you on that screen again or hear your voice before eleven, there will be consequences.”

“Unit chief consequences? Or sexy consequences?”

“I will remove you from this case.”

“Damn, okay,” you grumble, swinging your legs around and stretching out. “I’m laying down. Happy now?”

“I’m always happy when I get to hear your voice.”

“There’s the sap,” you tease. “What are you thinking for this case? Does this unsub have a revenge list on buildings or people?”

“We can talk about the case in the afternoon,” he says. “Right now, I want you to rest.”

You sigh. “Okay.” You pause, adding, “Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. “I’ve got to go, but…I love you. Try to get some sleep.”

“I will. Do you have a jacket of yours I can steal?” You need a blanket, but his jacket has bonus points for smelling like him. It reminds you of that time on the jet when he gave you his jacket, back before either of you had admitted anything, and were still hellbent on fighting your feelings tooth and nail.

He chuckles, and the sound makes you smile. “Hanging in the cabinet, yes.”

“Thank you,” you grin, standing to walk over to the cabinet.

“Goodnight, honey pie.”

You practically melt. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

And Aaron melts, too.

+++

  
The part that you hate (but honestly love) about being with Aaron is moments like these. He could tell you were tired and needed to sleep, and despite your protests, hearing his voice and his commands made you give up the fight and close your eyes.

You were out like a light after texting Garcia to let her know what you were doing. Curled up under Aaron’s blazer on his couch, you slept like a baby. 

That is, until some incessant knocking on his door woke you.

You’re still half-asleep when you realize the knocking is happening in real life and not in a dream. You scramble up from the couch, leaving Aaron’s blazer a crumpled mess on the couch. 

And when you open the door, your confusion only grows.

“Hi there,” you say, trying your best to speak through the sleepiness in your voice. “What can I help you with?” Thank God you’re still wearing your badge clipped to your shirt because otherwise, you’re aware of how bad this can look.

“Is Aaron here?” The woman asks. She has short blonde hair and looks…eerily familiar, but you can’t quite place her.

“He’s not,” you reply. “Can I ask who you might be?”

“Haley,” she says, and it all clicks, like a cold bucket of water splashed right in your face. In one word, you’re awake and alert. “His wife.”

 _Ex-wife_ , you want to say, but you don’t. “Oh, right, sorry, Mrs. Hotchner.” The name burns on your tongue.

“Please, we’re actually divorced,” she explains. “Call me Haley. And you are?”

You blink, her change in tone giving you whiplash. You can’t figure her out, and you can’t believe this is Haley, _the_ Haley that Hotch fell in love with back in high school. “I’m Agent Y/N. Agent Hotchner and the rest of the team are in Arizona currently working on a case.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows furrow, and you can’t tell if anything about her is genuine or not. “Why aren’t you? It’s nice to meet you, by the way.”

“You too,” you chuckle, trying to muster up a smile. “I decided to stay behind and help our technical analyst from the office for this case.”

“Oh,” Haley nods, and you hate that she says oh like that, but you can’t tell if you’re still tired or if your jealousy might be showing. “Oh, were you the agent that was injured?” She asks, and you freeze. “Aaron told me one of his agents was injured.”

Her sincerity is something so baffling. You can’t imagine why she’d actually care, or why she’s asking these questions. But again, maybe you’re just jealous.

“Yes, that was me,” you answer tentatively. “But I’m in recovery now and I’m about a month out from being back in the field.”

“It must be hard,” she presses on. “Being here while everyone is gone.” She glances around Aaron’s office when she says here, and you can’t tell if she’s insinuating anything or not.

“It’s different,” you agree. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh, you said your name was L/N? You’re the new agent, then, right? The youngest?”

You want this conversation to end so badly you can’t stand it. “I am. But I’ve been here for almost two years now, so I don’t consider myself new anymore, but I am the newest member to join the BAU, yes.”

“Did you feel you had a lot to prove?”

 _That_ has to be an insult, right? “Actually, I was recruited by Agent Hotchner, so…yes, but also not entirely. Listen, I should be getting back to work, so—”

“Oh, is that what you were doing in here? Working?”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, I—”

She cuts you off again. “Our son, Jack, you’ve heard of him, correct?”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your temper under control. “Agent Hotchner has mentioned him a few times, yes.”

“Well, he talks,” she continues. “He’s at that age now where he…notices things. And he asks about them.”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure that I follow exactly what you’re trying to say. Can you be more specific?”

“Are you or are you not having sex with my husband?”

The question stuns you so harshly to your core that you take a step back, almost like she had hit you with a physical blow. She awaits your answer with raised eyebrows and white knuckles gripping her purse.

“I don’t have to disclose anything about my personal life to you,” you answer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it is time for you to—”

“I will not have you sabotaging my husband’s job just so you can climb a ladder,” she hisses, stepping in front of you, blocking your path.

She demands eye contact, so you give it to her, but you glare. “I have no desire to climb any ladders.”

“Then why were you sleeping on his couch?” She glances over at it. “Covered up in his jacket, too?” She says it like it’s the most heinous crime she’s ever encountered.

“Because he told me to. I had been awake since nine yesterday morning. It was six a.m. when he told me to get some rest. You can ask him yourself if you so desire, but might I reiterate, we are currently on a case. One of which is more time sensitive than others, so _please_ ,” you pause, gesturing out the door, but keeping eye contact. “Excuse me.”

This time when you brush past her, she doesn’t try to stop you. Frustrated tears are welling in your eyes, but you hold them back. You will be damned if she sees you cry.

“He’ll see the truth one day,” she calls after you.

 _Yes_ , you think. _I hope he does see the truth about you_.

  
+++

You’re shaking by the time you reach Garcia’s office. You pause outside her door to take a few deep breaths, not wanting to draw attention to yourself when you walk in. You’re still processing what the hell just happened, so there’s no way in hell you’re telling Garcia or anyone else about this right now.

Aaron should know. _Shouldn’t he?_ You’re not sure.

Haley could’ve been dealing empty threats. But her words suggested otherwise. Her words were possessive. Our son. My husband, his wife, never ex, even though when you called her Mrs. Hotchner, she did seem to bristle. She did admit they’re divorced, but only then.

And bringing Jack into the conversation was the worst part. Now you have a sinking feeling that you’re damaging his well-being, bursting the bubble of his upbringing – no matter how you may feel about it, it’s not your place to do so.

You feel guilty. For what? For loving him? Is that what it boils down to? Is that what you’ve felt all along?

You can’t think about any of that right now, so you don’t. You enter Garcia’s office with a smile, hugging her and stealing a piece of candy.

And when the team comes back on the screen, you offer your input once again, but you mostly stay quiet, writing it off as still recovering from your nap.

If only Haley Hotchner’s appearance had been a nightmare, and not a real conversation that you now bear the weight of.


	34. Do you think I'll be happy now?

You don’t tell Aaron.

To be more accurate, you don’t tell anyone. Not a single damn person. Not your mom, not Aaron. Not even Garcia, though she has been suspicious.

The two of you had a sleepover at your apartment before coming back to the BAU to get back on the case. You have no idea how you managed to dodge Garcia’s questions while at your apartment, but you think being tired was the best excuse. And that Hotch called you.

Because Aaron did call. He wanted to say goodnight. And he did.

But that was it.

You thought for a moment about bringing up Haley’s visit, but you had no idea how. Seriously, how do you bring that up?

_Hi babe, hope you can get some good sleep tonight, you deserve it after such a long day – oh and by the way, your ex-wife stopped by and she basically… Threatened me?_

She didn’t even threaten you, unless she calls her last remark a threat. You guess it could be a thinly veiled one, but as much as she scared the shit out of you yesterday, you don’t think she would actually do anything. You genuinely think she’s just…jealous? Maybe?

It’s all so confusing. You don’t know what to make of any of it, and maybe that’s why you decide not to tell Aaron. 

You’re lucky he isn’t here, though. You can mask your voice easily enough, especially when there’s a case, but if he saw your face, you’d be caught in a second.

You just need to think about it more, that’s all. He’s stressed out enough as it is. You don’t want to bring up Haley’s visit and make things worse. He’s not even here, it’s not like he can do anything. He could call Haley and talk to her, but you’re not sure that would even go anywhere pleasant.

It’s best not to bring it up. For now.

Another fire was set this morning, anyway. That needs to be today’s main focus.

“Garcia, Eric Hanover was supposed to be there today,” Morgan says. “We need everything on him. He’s important to our guy.”

“I already gave you everything,” Garcia replies, tapping your arm with her pen to get your attention. “He’s fine, he has no criminal records – he has one DUI from when he was twenty-two, but other than that, this guy is squeaky clean.”

“What about relationships?” Morgan asks.

“I think he’s gay,” you blurt, ready to kick yourself.

Morgan pauses. “Excuse me?”

“He’s had no girlfriends, he’s not married, but he does have one best friend that was his roommate in college. They still live together,” you explain.

“Who is he?”

“Peter Lamelle,” Garcia fills in. “He’s also squeaky clean, babes. No criminal record whatsoever. Graduated college with honors, both parents are still living and married, no siblings. His credit is clean and full of generic purchases, I mean,” she shrugs in defeat. “I don’t think he’s your guy.”

“Alright,” Morgan says. “We’ll keep digging here. I’ll call you if we need more.”

“I’ll be here. PG out.”

Garcia hangs up the call with a tap of her pen. She pushes her mic on her headset back from her lips before she swivels her chair to face you.

“Out with it. What’s going on with you?”

You lift your eyes from the case file, furrowing your eyebrows. “What? I’m fine.”

“Oh, no, my friend, you are not,” she shakes her head, reaching forward to grab your chair, spinning you to face her. “What is it? Trouble in paradise? Sexual tension?”

“Pen!” You laugh nervously. “No, Aaron and I are good. I swear.”

“Something else?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“So there _is_ something!”

“I thought you weren’t a profiler?”

“I’m not,” she says. “I just happen to know when something is bothering my gal pals. What’s going on?”

If it weren’t for Pen’s kind face and caring nature, you would’ve brushed her off. But it’s Pen. You can tell her anything.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Haley stopped by yesterday.”

It takes a moment for Garcia to respond. “Haley? Like Hotch’s _ex-wife_ , Haley?”

You nod. “I woke up from my nap and she was knocking on his office door.”

“Oh my God, _Y/N!_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know what to say!” You argue. “She just asked if he was there and I told her we’re working on a case, so he’s out. And then she…”

“What?”

“She asked if Hotch and I are together—Well, _actually_ she asked if he and I are having sex, which _really_ caught me off guard—” 

Garcia nearly throws her coffee mug. “WHAT?!”

“It’s fine, I didn’t tell her anything,” you say. “I told her we’re on a case and I needed to go.”

“What did she say?”

“She… She said he’ll see the truth about me one day,” you shrug. “Whatever that means.”

Garcia shakes her head. “I can’t believe this. Have you told Hotch?”

“No, no, no,” you shake your head furiously. “No. He’s stressed enough about this case. And he can’t do anything, he’s not here.”

“Uh, he could call her,” Garcia says, giving you an incredulous look. “And tell her to not do that. It’s none of her business what the two of you do.”

“He is the father of their kid, though.”

“And?” Garcia sets her mug down to grab your hands. “Don’t let her get to you. They have a son together, yes, but that doesn’t mean she gets to control him. And if you tell him about this, he’ll say the same, I know he will. He would call Haley in a heartbeat and ask her what the hell she’s thinking—”

“I just…really don’t want to stress him out,” you murmur. “And Haley said Jack noticed and asked about me. Aaron didn’t even tell me Jack had asked about me—but I don’t know, maybe he asked Haley. Still, I…I can’t be a mom, Pen. I’m not cut out for that.”

She’s shaking her head more the more you speak. “You don’t have to be. Haley is Jack’s mom, not you. Hotch doesn’t expect you to be a mom to Jack, no one does.”

“But if I’m going to be in Aaron’s life, that includes being in Jack’s.”

“Okay, yes, I can’t argue with you there, but sweet pea, you don’t need to overthink this,” Pen squeezes your hands. “I think you should tell Hotch. Talk to him about it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Think about it,” she says. “Okay? Just consider it.”

You already have. You barely slept last night because you were thinking. But you don’t tell her that right now. Instead, you say, “Okay.”

Perfect timing, too, because a call comes in from Morgan just a second later. 

They can’t find Peter, Eric’s roommate.

+++

Three hours pass and the case has come to an end. It was who they didn’t suspect at all. Peter Lamelle.

Police caught him in the process of starting another fire. And further digging led Garcia to find a storage unit of his (registered under his brother, Gregory’s name) that contained everything an arsonist would ever need – and more.

Eric left the precinct shocked and scarred. His roommate, his best friend, a murderer, an arsonist.

And the team got on the plane, relieved to have caught the unsub.

You’re glad, too. Catching an unsub is always a good feeling. That is, when you don’t have the overwhelming dread settling over you from your boyfriend’s ex-wife.

The team is landing in a few minutes and you’re still at the office, awaiting Aaron’s return. Maybe you’ll tell him about Haley in person. 

You think about it for a second, but your thoughts are rudely interrupted by Strauss requesting your presence in her office.

“Strauss?” Garcia asks. “What does she want?”

“She didn’t say,” you shrug. “But I’m gonna go get whatever it is over with. Maybe I’ll be back by the time the team gets in.”

“Good luck,” Garcia frowns, squeezing your arm.

“Thanks.” You’ll need it.

You’ve never actually been up to Strauss’s office. You’ve met her, of course, but as for being called to her office, you haven’t had the luxury. 

It feels strangely like being called to the principal’s office, and you’re not sure how to feel about that. The ride on the elevator makes your heartrate spike.

A terrifyingly truthful voice in the back of your head tells you this might have something to do with Haley.

Would she go to Strauss, though? Is she that angry about this to go over Aaron’s head to Strauss?

Suddenly you want to vomit.

Strauss is waiting for you in her office when you get there. She’s standing in the middle of the room, looking at some file, probably the arsonist case, but regardless, she smiles upon seeing you.

 _Weird_.

“Come on in,” Strauss waves you in. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” you reply slowly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Strauss answers as she rounds her desk. “Please, have a seat. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Hesitantly, you take a seat across from her. Your mind is racing, so is your heart, just waiting for her to get out with it. All other logical reasons have flown out of the window. All you can think is your relationship with Aaron has to be the reason you’re here.

“So,” she folds her hands, “I heard the case went well.”

“Yes, it did,” you nod, sitting up as straight as possible. “I was just glad Agent Hotchner let me work on the case from here.”

“Yes, I saw he cleared you for remote work,” Strauss nods. “I assume you still need clearance from your doctor before you can return to the field?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to return to the field?”

You pause. “Yes. I’d like to.” Another pause. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s been some whispers,” Strauss begins. “With your recent performance and your age, it’s impressive. A few positions have opened up and I’ve been hearing offers that might be heading your way in the near future.”

“That’s…flattering, but I like the BAU,” you reply. “I don’t think I’m interested in moving right now.”

“Understandable,” Strauss agrees. “You’re young. You have time to advance.”

You nod slowly.

“Just know, you don’t have to go to any drastic lengths to advance,” she continues. “There are many positions in the FBI that would suit you and improve your skillset further.”

“I’m sure.” Either you’re reading too far into everything, or she definitely knows. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “One more thing, Y/N, I know you’re still new here, but I know the BCI has this same policy,” she pauses. “Workplace relationships are strictly prohibited. In order to keep a safe and healthy environment, this rule has to be in place. You understand, I’m sure.”

Your muscles have all gone rigid. _She fucking knows_. “I do.”

“Good. Because I’ve heard that there might be a relationship blooming within the BAU, and I’d like to stop it while it’s ahead.”

Too late. “I understand.” It’s already bloomed. It’s been blooming for months now.

“It could still…bloom, if you will, if one of the two people decided to transfer. That would keep the work environment intact and not complicate things anymore than need be.”

“I agree.”

Strauss’s eyes are narrowed, but she makes no move to be utterly blunt about what she’s saying. “Good, I’m glad.” She unfolds her hands and stands to her feet, and you follow. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” you nod. “Anytime.”

As you turn to leave, she adds, “I know you said you aren’t interested, but…the offers are here if you change your mind.”

You don’t think you will, but you thank her anyway.

+++

Downstairs, Haley and Jack are there when Aaron and the team walk into the bullpen. 

Shocked looks are shared briefly before the team disperses, letting Aaron handle whatever it is that’s happening.

Apparently, Haley is only here because Jack wanted to visit Aaron at work.

“Hey buddy,” Aaron grins, picking his son up and putting him on his hip. “What’d you do today?”

Jack jumps into explaining how school had the day off today, so he got to spend the day with Haley, and they went to his favorite park and ate his favorite lunch. Aaron is listening intently to Jack when you see him through the glass doors of the bullpen.

_He looks so…happy._

Bracing yourself, you get ready to be the bigger person.

Morgan spots you first when you’ve barely pushed the door open, so he’s instantly by your side, hauling you into a hug. You accept it with a laugh, grateful for his knight in ever-shining armor self.

“What have I told you about manhandling her?” Garcia smacks Morgan’s shoulder lightly, earning a grin.

Aaron watches this interaction unfold with a small smile, not noticing the smug glare you’re getting from his ex-wife.

“How did it go with Strauss?” Garcia asks, which causes Morgan to let go of you, turning you so he can look into your eyes.

“Strauss talked to you?” Morgan questions. 

“Really?” Emily says, practically coming out of nowhere with Reid and JJ.

Mention Strauss and suddenly _everyone_ appears.

“Yeah,” you nod, seeing Aaron staring at you from your peripherals. “It was fine, just some routine stuff. Nothing big.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan asks, but both his and Garcia’s eyebrows are raised in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you confirm, flashing your best everything-is-fine smile. “All is good. She’s not that scary, you guys,” you tease.

This seems to satisfy them for now. The only person who is even remotely skeptical is Hotch, but you wouldn’t know. You won’t look at him. Because looking at him means looking at Haley and looking at Haley means risking losing your brilliantly crafted façade.

“I’m about to head home, though,” you say, jabbing Morgan in the ribs when he starts to pout. “I’m exhausted and I’ve missed two calls from my mom.” A lie. “So, if you’ll quit pouting, I’m gonna head out and call my mom.”

“Alright, alright,” Morgan backs off. “Tell Momma L/N hi from me.”

“I will not,” you scoff, grinning. “I don’t need her falling in love with you anymore than she already is.”

“Where’s the harm in that?”

“Get out of here,” you smack his hands away. “I missed you the least, you know.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that!”

You finally catch Aaron’s eyes, completely on accident this time. Jack is still in his arms, with his head on his father’s shoulder, eyes fighting sleep as hard as they can.

You want to say something to him, but you don’t. He doesn’t say anything either, so you don’t have to form a reply.

You’re grateful. You don’t have the words right now.


End file.
